History Repeats Itself
by coffechick
Summary: Darkness casts it shadow once more. In answer, the Order has been reborn. As before, the best and brightest choose sides. And the parts they play will decide the fate of the wizarding world... Long time gone, but I'm back to finish this.
1. Binds

A/N:

Don't hit back just yet. If I, today, stumbled on the beginning of my own story, I probably wouldn't read it. And honestly? I think I'd be missing out. Though also saving a few hours of my life. (Your call.)

If you've clicked on this, you're entering a strange sort of saga that isn't finished yet- but actually, almost is. Or will be. I started this post Order of the Phoenix, drafts starting after that and posted in the beginning of my sophomore year. And then I left it for a while, because, well, my life got sort of interesting for a while there at the end of high school. More than that, in the more than a year where I was absolutely devoted to writing this, and getting steady feedback, my writing style changed. Grew. Improved. By the time I reached the 19th chapter, the story had altered. (though by now, I'm off base from canon, but I'm still trying to stay parallel to it.)

What I had set out to do- which, really, was partly an answer to my 'she can't kill Sirius!' and a mix of Lily seeming to have no friends of the Sirius- Remus caliber, and grown out of reading a lot of fanfictions which the good ones of I was really very into at the time but which went something like this- girl OC, often related to Dumbledore, and often with terrible names (Emerald, I think, was the worst I found in a serious story, and I remember reading one where the girl described how she'd recreated a scene between her and her boyfriend, and that infuriated me- I despise the author avatar, though of course a character's humanity is derived from the author- but seriously, massive pet peeve). I wasn't into fanfiction long enough to understand the Mary-Sue problem, but, oh, yeah. Bothered me. And also, there was the OC phenomenon appearing in other stories, which I really enjoyed- where the girl comes back into Sirius or Remus' life respectively, pulled back into the world- but in the past 15 some years, has apparently been doing nothing but hiding out in a cottage somewhere. And at the time I was convinced Harry HAD to have a godmother- only fair- and I didn't like the ones I was finding, which had all these excuses or, even less likely, became 'godmother' by virtue of being Sirius' wife- not something that made logical sense to me. Out of the fact that I was a fourteen/ fifteen year old girl starting this story, this character developed- yeah, in her own way a bit of a Mary Sue- but who was in a lot of ways, opposite. She seems perfect and helpful but really her return absolutely sends everything to shitsville. She was 'friends' with Lily and the Marauders, but ended up on the fringes of it, never what she really wanted to be- the most important person to the person/people most important to her, or ever even close. The similarity of her name to Ginny, which looking back I kick myself for, is probably more of an unconscious meaning thing than I noted- she was the sort of character Ginny is in the third, fourth book, not centrally oriented but sort of there, for everything. The past fifteen years of her life have changed her as just as much as the MWPP days, and meant as much. And more, she's over-confident, vain, was too self-absorbed at twenty-something to really be anyone's godmother, thisclose to getting herself killed, but genuinely cares and wants to come through- which she sometimes does but a lot of times doesn't. What I tried to do, and I think by now I've ended up doing, is made her human. She is not who I had her set out to be in my mind to begin with. I like her so much better than that.

Through the course of this story I wrote the Marauder's entire second year. My OC came to play second fiddle to the Weasley twins, to become a sort of navigation board to connect different canon characters I wanted to play with. The Weasley twins are the star of this story, the Marauders in the flashbacks.

But really- don't totally judge this story from the beginning- though some of it I do like, a lot. Because I'm eighteen now, and finishing it with a completely different outlook on, well, everything than I started out with. And if any of my readers are still out there, I'm finishing this for you. This story keeps coming back to me and I need to conclude it, because while I have this tendency to leave things unfinished. It's made a lot of who I am as a writer. And along the way- I figured something out. Why Sirius had to die. Why stories can't always have happy endings. Why we want them to anyway.

So really- even if you skip ahead a little, because while I'm going to try to amend a bit to make it easier to read- gimme a chance. I tried my best then to entertain and, frankly, still do. I want to come through, too. (and if you actually do go through all of this, and spend the time, really- take an extra minute and spare me a line, criticism, praise, what have you. It's a little bit of a big deal. But either way- thank you, because writing this- changed me. Lots. ) Apologies for the author's note/prologue, but I needed it- present-me's answer to past-me. Which, funnily enough, is probably the theme of this story.

Canon errors I'm not altering: Anything in HBP. Ages of James' parents, the Prewett brother's relationship with Molly, Bellatrix as the oldest sister, several other minor things/names. I fixed a few things, the rest I'm rolling with.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of its components belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.

"The past cannot be changed. The future is yet in your power." - Mary Pickford

_Our story: _

Deep in the catacombs of the city of Rome, in a place hidden from the casual eye of the tourist, a lone woman strolled, examining each wall with an experienced gaze. The constant dripping of water along the tunnels and the soft, unearthly whisper the swooping wind made did not seem to bother her. Young, but appearing deceptively younger, she might be considered a beauty, fitting in among the classic sculptures of the outward city. Her hands gleamed ethereally in the dim light that emerged from a lantern that floated beside her. As she concentrated on the runes engraved on the wall, the woman pulled out a small brush and carefully dusted a small section, blowing gently at the cloud of ancient grime that emerged.

A small half smile alighted on her lips. Lowering the stick in her left hand to get a better look, she jumped as the lantern crashed to the floor. The glass shattered instantly, leaving her in the dark.

"Ah, damn," she muttered. Raising the stick, she pointed it slightly and spoke. "Lumos."

Light shot from the tip of the wand at once, lighting up the woman's features in an eerie way.

Her high cheekbones and soft lips looked almost ghostly, wraithlike in the pale light. Her stormy blue eyes held sorrows long pushed aside, revealed for a moment in the darkness.

She'd never liked the darkness.

Her eyes clouded over again into a steely calm as she turned to the wall. In the light from her wand, a door with a stone lock appeared. There it was.

Turning towards it, her wand still lit, she murmured, "_Alohomora_" in a coaxing tone. The door pulsed a bright blue light, remaining locked. Sealed against magic, naturally.

She shrugged, as if that would have been too easy anyways. She set her wand on the ground to give off light, then rummaged into the pockets of her worn, comfortable jeans. Finding nothing, she pulled off her leather jacket and reached into the innermost pocket. Only her cell phone. Where was her lock picking kit when she needed it?

She'd do it the hard way, then. Not bothering to pick up her wand, she concentrated hard and stretched out her hand. "_Accio!_" she ordered. A large black bag came speeding down the hallway straight at her. At the last moment, she stopped to the side and caught it deftly.

With a devilish grin, she tore into one of the numerous compartments, pulling out some dangerous looking equipment. Muggle explosives. Sloppy, but effective.

It took her scarcely moments to set it up around the stone door. Setting the timer for five seconds, she rapidly yelled, "_Protego_!" shielding herself and the rest of the area. A cloud of smoke enveloped her. As it faded, a gaping hole appeared, rocks strewn all about it. A less experienced person might have stepped inside. A less experience person would have died.

Her sharp eyes scanned the floor. Lined with booby traps, of course. Poison hung invisibly at about chest level roughly halfway through. The woman knew its foul odor. She saw slight flickers of blue in corners of the walls. No levitating, then. Spells were heavily lined against flying, or in fact any kind of magic. These Roman wizards had been smart, very smart. The average wizard at those times would have been utterly hopeless without magic. Silently, she blessed her father for being the practical Muggle he was.

Reaching into her bag once more, she pulled out a grappling hook and a black cord Muggles liked to use for movie stunts that she had improved for her uses with magical products. Those should still work inside.

With the depression of a button, the hook shot into the room and snagged the ceiling deeply.

Several adjustments of the rope later, she attached her harness and effortlessly pulled herself up. For a light, tall woman in her thirties, she moved like a teenage gymnast, or perhaps a cat burglar as she eased her way across the chamber hanging upside down.

Finally, she hung over the farthest part of the chamber, where the object she was seeking lay. There. The scepter of Jupiter. A useless, gilded gold mess wielded by a tyrant, a powerful wizard who'd forced Muggles to accept him as a god. Yet within it lay a treasure indeed- one of the earliest wands made by the Ollivanders company, utilizing a griffin feather as a magical core, illegal to use in wandmaking now due to the near extinction of that species. She began to lower herself to reach the scepter, when the most unlikely thing imaginable happened.

Her cell phone rang.


	2. Jenny

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, his world, and all characters associated with him.

She was so surprised, she lost her grip on the rope and slid down several inches before she could catch herself. Dangling upside down, she paused, wondering who could possibly be calling her. After all, only three people in the world had the number, and all of them were in S.A.L.A.M.A.N.D.E.R. (Society's Arms Legion Affording Magical and Non-Magical Deception Efforts Regarding Regulations) and knew better than to call her on business.

S.A.L.A.M.A.N.D.E.R., a network she'd co-founded and practically ran, consisted of witches, wizards, Squibs, and a scarce few Muggles aware of the wizarding world. It kept watch on all Dark activity, protected Muggle and Muggle-born attacks as best it could, and did too many other numerous things to name. It was a compact, highly secret group with branches in most parts of the world- with the highly notable exceptions of Britain, Scotland and Wales. She was through with England. Drew, a Muggle cop in Seattle, whose witch fiancé had died twelve years ago, was too smart to call her. Any problems that came up, he would handle himself and inform her of next she contacted him. An Australian witch also had the number, but unable to comprehend technology, she was incapable of using a telephone. That left Roger, who was sort of her assistant, an English squib who'd married a witch and relocated to New York during Voldemort's reign. He had called her twice before on a job, and those had been dire emergencies, life and death situations. She scrambled for the phone.

It is very difficult to reach a cell phone while hanging upside down a good twenty five feet above the ground. With difficulty, she managed to squirm her hand into her jacket's inner pocket- damn good thing she left it on- and yank the small, silvery object free. Thumbing the speak button, she pulled it to her ear.

"Talk," she ordered impatiently, not bothering to take time for pleasantries.

A nervous sounding young voice answered hesitantly. "Miss Philips?"

She frowned. No one had called her that in years. Philips, maybe, but miss? "Who is this?" she demanded.

"Dean, Dean Mayer. Roger's son? I don't know if you remember me?" he offered timidly.

She cast her mind back. She didn't notice that her bun, magically tied back, slowly began to come undone, loose curls tumbling out. The very light rope, magically strengthened, was suddenly put under a lot of strain as the anti-magic spells in the room finally began to wear away at it. Philips was too busy thinking. Dean... oh, yeah, that little kid who she'd trounced in that video game after she finally agreed to play him. He'd been born Muggle- probably a good thing, considering how miserable his mother was at magic. He'd be thirteen, right?

"Sure, I remember you. Is your dad okay, kid?" she asked, blue eyes wide with worry.

"Yeah. Well, I think. He's not exactly coherent at the moment," the kid said, faintly amused.

"Pardon?" Philips asked, shocked. Roger, a bit of a stuffed shirt, always made sense, at the very least.

"Well, Miss Philips, he's sort of babbling."

"Call me Jenny, Dean," she said with a sigh. This could take a while.

"'Right, 'cause it makes you feel old to be-"

She interrupted. "No, it makes me feel like I'm back in school. Back to the point, kid. Why are you calling me?"

He paused a moment, as if trying to think of a way to explain it, than began in a bewildered tone. "You know the thingy where somebody's head shows up in your fire? Well, a prophet guy showed up in it and started talking, and Mum started crying, and Dad babbled but he wanted to call you, but his hand was shaking and he couldn't dial the phone, and I thought somebody should call you and I think."

"Slow down," she barked, in a harsher tone than she attended. The kid stopped talking for once, and she could hear Roger. Indeed he was babbling, repeating "no" and "impossible", moaning terribly. That was not at all like him.

"Oo-kay," she murmured, suddenly fretful. "Now, do you know what this is about?"

"No idea," he chirped cheerfully.

Jenny figured she'd have to drag the details out of Dean's thick skull. "Let's start with the prophet guy, then. What was he prophesizing? …Wait a minute. Prophet guy. From the _Daily Prophet_?" she asked incredulously.

"That's it!" he exclaimed. "Sorry, I wasn't paying much attention. It was about some article he's writing for tomorrow, wanted us to know first. It should be all over the world before tomorrow afternoon. Then I turned on Smash Brothers."

"Prophet guy, he'd be Amelie's husband," Jenny mused, thinking of a former contact in France. She'd met the man once. He didn't seem the type to mess around. "Anything in particular your parents are babbling?" she said hopefully.

The kid listened for a minute. "Uh-huh. Who's You-Know-Who?"

Her blood ran cold. "Dean, put your mother on the phone." She needed to talk to another witch, now.  
"But - "

"Just get her on the phone," Jenny ordered, deadly calm. Dean heard the power and rage scarcely disguised in her tone. He'd heard it before when his mother yelled at him. Clearly, it worked.

"He-he-he-lo?" hiccupped Miranda Mayer. "Je-je-ny, it's aa-aaaaaful," she bawled.

"Mir-"

"Ttttterrrrrribbble! Oooohhhhh," she moaned.

"MIRANDA!" Jenny thundered. Unknown to her, the rope frayed silently.

The woman stopped crying. "Yes, Jenny," she said quietly.

The adventurer calmed down. "Voldemort's back?"

Even though she couldn't see her, Miranda's flinch was audible. "He's baaack," she said, trying not to sob.

Jenny let out a long breath, glancing above her. She froze. "Hold, please."

The woman could hear Miranda's frustrated, confused cries as she stuck the cell phone in her pocket. She may have been better off with Dean, she contemplated. Gauging the fraying rope, she slowly unbuckled her harness. The pedestal on which the scepter rested was slightly below her and forward, within swinging distance- she hoped. If it wasn't, the nearly invisible cloud of poison just below the pedestal's height waiting to envelope her. Normally, she'd have enjoyed the rush of adrenaline and thrill that came along with escaping death. At the moment, she just wanted to get this over with so she could find out what the hell was going on. Jenny knew she should have stationed a S.A.L.A. agent in Britain.

She grasped the harness with her left hand as she detached it with the right. Immediately dropping downwards, she latched her other hand on as well. Throwing her weight backwards and forwards to gain momentum, Jenny vaulted from the rope and landed in an expert crouch on the small platform. Reaching down, she picked up the scepter, about two feet in length and covered with jewels. As wide around as her wrist, she examined the gilded gold carelessly.

Abruptly, she shattered it against the base she stood on, which rocked in angry protest. The weak gold made a sickening noise as it scattered all about the area. Expensive jewels fell like rain to the floor, some causing parts of the floor to open up and swallow them, others for darts to shoot out of walls where the weight had fallen.

Catching the wand that fell from within, Jenny examined it with pleasure. Jupiter must have been a fool to cover this wand up. Made from the branch of a Greek olive tree, it was a pale brown color, unlike the black of her own ebony wand. Although it contained a feather, the wand felt more like one with a dragon heartstring call than a phoenix feather, like she had.

Lovely little thing. Definitely more than worth it. She shoved it into her jeans pocket. For now, she had more important things to think about.

The harness, hanging high up, was too far away for her to reach without the aid of magic.

She'd have to leave it. The only way out, it seemed, led straight through the poisons and booby trapped floor. Simply running wouldn't work.

Sighing, she took off her jacket, wrapping the cell phone, her own wand, and Jupiter's init gently. Then, with a hard, practiced throw from her old Quidditch days at school, she chucked it as far as she could. Apparently, she hadn't entirely lost her Chaser skills. The jacket landed in the outlying hall. She only hope the soft folds of material within had kept the phone safe.

Straightening, she approached the edge of the pedestal, her back to the edge. Hands held outward, she took a deep breath and flipped back into the poison.

The instant her hands made contact with the floor, she was turning. Feet, hands, feet, hands. She heard darts swish past her, barely missing her revolving body. Stones sank into the earth even as she pushed off them. Jenny's lungs burned, her body screaming at her to breath. She could not give in. Wouldn't that just be ironic, if she died and missed the second war? For there would surely be a second war.

She emerged, finally, into the chamber from which she came. However, she dared not breathe yet, for the poison clung on her clothes. Scrambling into the jacket for her wand, thankfully undamaged, she performed the gesture for a spell and concentrated on Scourging her clothes as hard as she could. Miraculously, it worked and she sucked air into her lungs, her vision clearing. She choked, coughing hard, then picked up the phone.

"Miranda," she said calmly, as if nothing had occurred. She coughed slightly. "Tell Roger Angie from Australia's in charge of the network. And not to let Drew know anything, no matter what. He'll get himself killed." A worried squawk answered her. "Me? I'm going back to England, Mir.

No, not by Floo port. Tell Roger I'll be taking the bike." A small smile alighted on her lips.

"Yes. That bike."


	3. Alleys and Wheezes

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, his world, and all characters associated with him.

Roaring down the streets of London hours upon hours later, Jenny blessed the sky for the cloudy night. She'd never even needed to bother turning on the disillusionment gear, and managed to land unseen on a foggy moor. Merlin, she loved this bike. A broomstick was wonderful, and hey, flying carpets weren't half bad, but there was nothing like a flying motorbike.

Her eyes finally settled on the pub known as the Leaky Cauldron for the first time in nearly fifteen years. Sliding the motorcycle to a stop, Jenny swung her legs over and stepped onto the street. It was incredibly late, with only one or two drunken Muggles stumbling down the street. Murmuring the locking spell to prevent the theft of her bike, she secured her truck to the back carefully.

Anyone who tried to steal one of her possessions was in for a nasty shock. Hesitating, she walked slowly up to the entrance and opened the door hidden from Muggle eyes.

The Leaky Cauldron never closed, whatever the time of day or night. A rather large group of people, most looking woebegone and weary, crowded around the bar, drinking heavily. Probably, she figured, trying to wash away the reality of Voldemort's return.

Each head swiveled to see the newcomer and gaped at her, likely because of her Muggle clothing. Her hand itched to draw her wand. Instead, she pushed back her long Rapunzelite curls, which had fallen out of the bun passing over France. Already, Jenny felt uncomfortable.

Tom, the ancient bartender, turned towards her with a gap- toothed smile, scutinizing her with his intelligent eyes. The dark brown peepers narrowed, then widened in surprise. Stepping out from beyond the counter, he walked briskly towards her, limp and all, to shake her hand.

"Miss Guineviere Philips. Nice to have you back. Incredibly glad you're not dead," he said, voice tired but loud.  
She frowned as the faces watched her with considerable more interest. "Not so loud please, Tom... Did you say dead?" she asked, starting.

"Ten years ago, an article about your death and an orbit made the front page of the paper," he murmured quietly.  
She couldn't help but burst out in laughter, not noticing one of the men at the table drain his glass and hustle outside. "Oh, Merlin, that! I never thought that would reach you back here! That was just a rumor I started to get some insane vamps off my trail until I could get rid of them. But come on now, people knew I wasn't dead."

Tom, who was quite smart although he did not look it, considered for a moment. "Well, Albus Dumbledore- your uncle or somethin', ain't he- he didn't say anything on the subject, and Rubeus Hagrid was conspicously quiet. But everybody else, like me, was damn sure you were gone. Alastor Moody, he wrote your orbit."

She flushed, suprised. "I must have done a better job on that rumor than I thought. Did anyone actually think I was crazy enough to go to Albania? Jeez. Hagrid and Uncle Albus- and for pity's sake he's not really my uncle, just a very distant cousin - they had to have known, of course. You'd think they'd tell someone."

"How are you related to Dumbledore?" Tom asked curiously. For a moment, she thought he was just asking for the sake of knowledge, but from the look in his eyes, she guessed he was testing her.

Jenny sighed, lips tightening in an unattractive way. "My great-great-great-grandfather- I may have missed a great or two- was the brother of the father of Albus and his brother Aberforth. Under the reign of Grindewald, when Albus Dumbledore was fighting against him, the Dark Wizard wiped out most of his family to get to him, near the end of the war. My mum was just a little girl, a baby really, and Grindewald overlooked her. Aberforth raised her, which probably wasn't the most intelligent of moves. It's simpler to just say Albus is my great-uncle, though I'm certainly not keen on seeing him anytime soon. Most people tend to make the mistake of really thinking I am his great-niece, which really makes me wonder how old they think _I_ am." The purse of her lips relaxed. "Technically, I'm the last heir to his line, but it really is an extremely distant connection." She paused for a breath, eyes shifting upward. "Satisfied?"

Tom's old eyes lit up in his walnut face, even looking slightly watery. "My dear girl, it truly is you. Welcome back, Miss Philips, welcome back." He stepped back behind the bar, and she settled into a stool.

"Can I get you anything?" he said, business like.

"A Guinness would be wonderful," she told him, her pale pink lips turning up in the cornors. Admiring looks were cast her way from some of the men in the bar, drunk and thick as they were. Gladly, she ignored them.

A glass full of dark liquid with a heaping of white foam was instantly handed to her. Thanking him, she sipped it as they began to chat about serious matters.

"How'd he come back, Tom?" Jenny wondered, eyes sharp to make sure no one was listening in. She was careful not to call him by his true name and terify the old bartender.

"No one's rightly sure," he said slowly. "Dumbledore announced he was back about this time last year, but Fudge made sure it didn't get out."

She choked on her drink. "Last year?" Boy, and S.A.L.A. hadn't gotten word of it? The Ministry must have done a pretty good job of keeping it quiet. Another fact hit her. "Cornelius Fudge made Minister? I didn't think the fiasco with Crouch's son was enough to keep him out of office. Damn, he must have it in for me."

"Which one?" he asked calmly. "If you mean Crouch, he's dead."

That surprised her. "Really? Anyway, both of them had it in for me. I have the feeling I've missed an awful lot."

Tom scrutinized her carefully. "Did you hear Sirius Black escaped?"

She didn't visibly react, though her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Yes. Couldn't have missed that. All over the news, even in Antarctica. Did he have something to do with his return?"

"Harry Potter didn't mention him in the interview about it."

She jumped off her stool, almost spilling her glass. "Harry Potter was there?! Oh, bloody hell!" she exploded, racking her head. "Blood of the enemy..." she murmured. Over the years, she had gained a great knowledge of Dark Arts in order to learn how to counter act them with the light. After losing so many friends, naturally she had explored ways to turn back time, to try to save people, only to learn the rules of the world. To bring someone back, they had to have prepared beforehand to avoid death, and incredibly black and terrible arts had to be use to return them. She remembered reading one renowned ancient spell, which she suddenly knew Voldemort must have used. If she hadn't been so selfish, so angry, she may have stayed in England, may very well have prevented his return. She heard the voice of a girl who died before she even left school, telling her about fate, how it could not be avoided. Jenny, shaking herself of the memory, stood, downing her glass. "Screw fate," she mumbled under her breath. There was always a way around it. She couldn't change the past, but the future, perhaps, could still be helped. Tom didn't know enough to help her. He'd never been involved with the Order and that ilk. Something, instinctively, told her what to do.

"I'm heading down Diagon Alley," she informed him casually.

He looked suprised. "Most everything's closed."

She shrugged. "If it comes to that, I'll look around Knockturn." After all the things she'd seen, nothing down that alley could scare her anymore. She no longer had anything to lose.

Tom, horrified, opened his mouth to protest. Heading away, he called to her. "You won't want to go there like that. You'll stick out like a sore thumb."

She eyed her clothes. "That's right, of course. I'd forgotten. Which reminds me, I wanted to rent a room…"

Minutes later, Jenny headed toward the brick wall in the back, room key securely tucked in her plain black robes, which swished behind her. Somehow, she had quickly transformed from a dusty wanderer back into an elegant witch. Her eyes, the same brilliant blue as her distant relative's, could not hide the pain in them as she stood there. Too many memories hung about Diagon Alley, too many dead friends. Heck, there'd been a battle here. A dear friend had died here. She reluctantly raised her wand. What was it again?  
Oh, _yes..._

"Three up, two across," the big man told her, clearly nervous, as he tapped the pattern with his pink umbrella. Poor Hagrid, he wasn't used to leaving Hogwarts grounds, but with the appointment of Albus Dumbledore to headmaster, he'd rather recently been given more responsibility, which he both relished and feared.

The little girl watched, blue eyes excited, as the bricks swiftly moved themselves out of her way, making clicking sounds as they slid out of place. "I always love it when they do that!" she exclaimed. She put her small hand trustingly in his big one, pulling him into the alley. "C'mon, Hagrid, we're going to be late!" Her pale chestnut curls bobbed behind her in her ponytail. Finally about to start at Hogwarts, she was positively thrilled. She'd been looking forward to shopping with her mother, but Mrs. Philips had distractedly told her she was too busy. There'd been a mysterious Muggle killing last week, and for some reason, her stay-at-home mother was involved. But Hagrid was a good replacement, better than her father, who still found wizard money bemusing.

"Not so fast, Guineviere," Hagrid called nervously, as she let go of his hand and ran ahead.

She ran up to a table occupied by a young boy at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream parlor. "Hi!" she said, smiling brightly.

The boy, with a mop of dusty brown hair the color of sand, looked at her with bewildered grey eyes. Dark circles underneath them betrayed his weariness, and his skin looked rather grey itself, as if he had just recovered from a nasty bought with the flu. He appeared quite startled. "Are you Miss Philips?" he asked, shocked.

She nodded, extending his hand. "Yep! I'm Guineviere. You must be Remus Lupin."

He managed a smile. "I was expecting someone older, since Professor Dumbledore said you were his relative."

She grinned. "Nope! I'm a first year, too. Oh, and that's Hagrid," she said gesturing at the big man coming their way. "He's Keeper of the Keys and gamekeeper at Hogwarts. Hagrid, I found him!"

Remus looked at the man, nervous, but not because of his size. He was wary with adults.

Rubeus Hagrid beamed at him. "'Ello, Mister Lupin. Yer a mite scrawny, aren't ye! Well, dontcha worry about that, Hogwarts'll fix ye up right. Got the best headmaster the school's e'er seen, Albus Dumbledore."

"Great man, Dumbledore," said Remus quietly, looking relieved.

Hagrid, pleased, clapped Lupin on his slender shoulders, causing him to wince slightly. The boy had a bruise there, under his right shoulder. "I'm goin' to like ye, I can tell. Madam Malkin's first, eh, Gwen?"

She wrinkled her nose slightly, she wasn't fond of her name or her nickname. "Sounds good," she told him. Standing up, Remus found she was ever so slightly taller than him. He hadn't begun to hit his growth spurt yet.

The girl, letting Hagrid walk just a bit ahead, smiled at him and whispered, "Don't worry, he doesn't know you're a werewolf."  
Remus jumped in suprise. "How'd-"

She waved her hand airily. "Oh, don't worry, it doesn't make any difference to me."

He stared at her, mouth moving in a faintly absurd way. His mother had been right to warn him, anyone related to Dumbledore must be slightly off their rocker.

"I'm supposed to help cover for you," she explained. "Your parents said you're a terrible liar. So, Uncle Albus got me. I'm a terribly good one, though my dad always sees right through me. I don't like lying, but I don't mind it. So, I'll just confirm your story about where you go each month. Uncle Albus always says kids are smarter than they give us credit for. I mean, we will learn a werewolf's symptoms in Defense Against the Dark Arts- not that you're Dark," she added hurridly. "But the teachers will know too, or most of them, anyways, so I'm supposed to make sure they all treat you fairly and stuff. And this way, he said if you need to talk to somebody your own age about it, you can talk to me. I won't tell anyone, I'm very good at keeping secrets. You don't mind that I know, do you?" she said worridly, though her tone was extremely quiet so it wouldn't be overheard.

He continued staring at her for a moment, then smiled awkwardly. "You really don't mind?"

"Why would I?" she shrugged. "I've met lots of people who are different, just look at dear Hagrid. And your're normal except for one night, once a month. I don't see any problem."

At that moment, Remus Lupin's faith in humanity began to return. Of course, he thought she was totally nuts, but she was nice, and she'd called him normal. Guineviere Philips could have no idea what that meant to him, of course, but suddenly, he felt much more self-confident.

After they'd gotten their wands, robes, books, and other school supplies, they returned to Florean's for an ice cream. Despite Remus' protests that he couldn't afford all this, Hagrid had quietly told him that his first year and needed equipment had been arranged as a special scholarship by Dumbledore after much wrangly with the Ministry. So the boy settled down and began eating his chocolate ice cream. It was then that Remus Lupin's life changed forever, for the better.

A boy was being dragged down the street by a tall, very angry witch with a ridiculous vulture hat that Remus knew was in style. "James Potter! I can't believe you just said that about dear old Mr. Ollivander!"

"But he is a wack job, Mum, he said so himself!" a boy with jet black hair and glasses complained, dragging his feet to slow his mother down. "C'mon, you promised I could go in the joke shop, Mum, and Dad said it was fine. Pleeeaaase?"

Mrs. Potter's eyes alighted on Guineviere, who froze. The woman let out a delighted cry. "Oh, it's little Gwen!"

James pulled a face. "The little angel you always talk about?" he said, trying to speak quietly and failing. "Mum, I really don't want to meet her..."

"Nonsense, Jamsie," his mother said, pulling him this way. "I'll get you an ice cream." She patted down her son's messy hair, wanting him to look presentable in front of anyone they knew.

"Hello, Mrs. Potter," said Guineviere as politely as possible. Behind his mother's back, James was imitating his mother, his mouth moving silently in mimicry of her.

"Guineviere! Lovely to see you, how is your mother?" Mrs. Potter cried in one breath. She shoved James forward. "This is my son, James."

"Pleasure," they chorused, sounding as if they'd been shot in the face by a Gobstone.

"This is Remus Lupin," Guineviere said, turning away from the boy with untidy hair to introduce the young werewolf.

The other boy turned to him and smiled, much more genuinely than he had at the pretty girl. "Nice to meet you. James Potter." He turned to his mother. "Will you get my ice cream now?"

"Sit down and talk to the kids, Jamsie, I'll get you a vanilla." His mother bustled inside, greeting Hagrid as she walked in.

"Jamsie, my arse," the boy mumbled. "And I don't like vanilla."

Guineviere smiled, a mysterious, close-mouthed smile that was much more real than the plastered smile she had given James a moment before.

"What?" he snapped.

"Nothing. It's just my mom describes you as a perfect little gentleman. I'd guess it was you then, with the raisins?"

He brightened. "Did your mum eat them?"

Gwen began to laugh.

"Raisins?" Remus echoed, puzzled.

James grinned wickedly at him. "I borrowed my dad's wand last year," he drawled, in a story telling tone. "I had some skill with it even, then, young and innocent as I was."

Remus snorted. He doubted this kid had ever been innocent.

"My mum was making up a care package for Mrs. Philips. Now, don't get me wrong, her mum isn't bad, and mine isn't either, but they're gossipy, sociable, etcetera, etcetera," he continued, gesturing wildly with his hands. "They're always having tea, and driving me up the wall." He shook his head. "Among the things she was sending was a dish of raisins, an unlikely and lucky occurence. I took it upon myself to liven the boring dish up, free of charge, naturally. Did it work?" he asked the girl eagerly.

She choked, she was laughing so hard. "My Muggle great aunt Agnes was visiting that night. Opened the box, ate several handfuls, and then, as she was chewing one bunch, they turned into ants. Funniest thing I've ever seen. Mum had to erase her memory of the visit."

James laughed, a hearty, happy sound. Remus suddenly wanted to be friends with the boy. He had an aura about him, that made Remus feel confident and friendly. Though he didn't realize it, the troublemaker had a natural ability as a leader.

"I would have put something in to alter their appearance," he chimed in. James stopped laughing and studied him with interest.

"That's probably what your mothers care about a lot, right? I would have done something to make their hair change color, or give them boils or acne. Nothing too terrible, just something to make them really upset that would wear off quickly."

"That's brilliant," James said quietly, studying him with alert hazel eyes behind the glasses. "Could you figure out how to do that?"

Remus shrugged modestly. "It's not hard. You can figure out how from our school books, even."

James' eyebrows shot up, and he seemed about to speak, as his mother came back out, laughing and talking with Hagrid.

The three sat rather quietly, unable to continue the conversation with the adults present. When Mrs. Potter finally said they had to keep shopping, James looked miserable.

Guineviere, eyes flickering between the boys, spoke up. "Mrs. Potter, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

The woman, smiling, said yes gladly.

"Welllll," she said, stretching out the word. "Hagrid and I are headed to Magical Menagerie next, and Remus is allergic to cats. Aren't you, Remus?" She elbowed him, hard.

Puzzled, he nodded. James, realizing what she was doing, gave her a fleeting glance of respect.

"See, Mrs. Potter, Remus really wanted to see the joke shop. And my mum really wanted me home early, but Remus' parents can't pick him up until five in the Leaky Cauldron." Remus' parents, who were rather poor, both worked, even during the summer.

Remus' father, a Muggle, was a teacher in a small school, and his mother a secretary at the Ministry.

"So, I thought it might be nice if you could take him with you, since he and James really hit it off," Guineviere finished, wheedling.

Mrs. Potter patted her son on the head, pleased. "That'd be no problem, dear, if Remus doesn't mind."

Remus Lupin, shocked and happy, smiled. "No, of course I don't mind!" He turned to look at Gwen and smiled gratefully at her.

She smiled back, and he didn't notice that her eyes looked a bit sad.

James pumped his fist in the air and saluted the girl. She grinned back at the boy.

"Five at the Leaky Cauldron, dear?" Mrs. Potter asked Remus. He nodded, blissfully forgetting his condition and the terrible transformation of the previous week. James Potter was to become one of the greatest friends he'd ever have.

"Bye, Guineviere," he and James chorused, then quietly muttered their thanks.

"See you at school," she told them, and with a flick of her ponytail, she walked towards the Menagerie with Hagrid trailing after her. She left them, James explaining to Remus about Filibuster fireworks and moaning that the prank shop here wasn't up to the quality of Zonko's.

"That were a nice thing ye did there," Hagrid said to her gently.

She sniffled slightly. "I know it was. He couldn't help it, he liked James better. I would've, too," she said sadly. "I'll make other friends, I know, but we could've been good friends, I think, and now I have the feeling we'll never be that close. I dunno," she mumbled. Then she brightened, gazing at the sign. "Can I get a cat, Hagrid?"

"Yer mother wou' kill me," he told her, but sighed. "All righ'," he warned, "but ye'll have to take it to school. Wouldn' ye rather have an owl? Cats make me sneeze..."

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""(""")""""""""""""""'

Jenny stepped into Diagon Alley, looking at the dark and dreary streets which were so lively and beautiful in sunlight. Everything had changed since she'd first walked down these streets, and yet, nothing. There was the ice cream parlor where she had sat chatting with James and Remus, closed for the night and looking exactly the same. But James Potter had died a hero, and she hadn't spoken to Remus in years. He probably thought her dead, and she wasn't entirely sure he'd care. She'd bought her kitten there, little Cal, short for Excalibur, who was far too old to travel about with her. She'd retired him, reluctantly giving him to her friend Angie's daughter Kate, where he could live in peace and happiness, finally able to grow fat and content. She could still hear his pitiful meows as she left him.

She turned the corner, half expecting the Prewett boys to laughingly pop around the bend, running from some shopkeeper they'd bothered. She expected solemn Edgar Bones to loom over her shoulder, bringing news of the Order. She wanted Alice Anderson's laughter to carry across the street, but Alice had become a Longbottom, more laughing and happy than ever before, only to end up never laughing again. Sorrow welled up in her. This place was too much. If all these memories came back here, how could she ever set foot in Hogwarts? She suddenly remembered why she'd left in the first place.

A light caught Jenny's eye. Some shop was still open. Clearly, its owners must be very zealous. She didn't remember a shop being there, but then again, she'd been gone a very long time. Shops came and went, like people. The sign caught the glimmer of moonlight, revealing its name to her.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. All too easily, she recalled James' oft heard complaint that Diagon Alley needed a better joke shop. The old one had been destroyed long ago; blown up, to James' chagrin, and from the gleam of new paint on the building, she guesses it had long been without one. Thinking of her old friends and wondering about a few Weasleys she had baby-sat ages ago,

Jenny could not resist stepping inside.

Immediately, her honed instincts screamed danger; she automatically dove to the left. Water splattered all over, but missed her completely. She shook her head, what had she been expecting?

"Bravisimo!" a young voice called. "You're the first person we didn't hit."

"Need to work on the range, I 'spect," a voice said, sounding as if he had a mouth full of something.

"I told you we should stay open!" the first voice continued delightedly. "Look, we got another customer."

"George, it's five in the morning," the other voice mumbled tiredly. "It's one thing to stay open all yesterday, that was our grand opening. Tonight, it's overkill."

Jenny, bemusedly, glanced up at them as she stood. Looking upward, she saw no bucket nor trace of any device.

Before she could ask, the boy referred to as George had approached her eagerly. "Water pellets. Brilliant, really. They're practically invisible and break automatically when, say, a door opens, or, if you were to manage to stick it on someone's pants with a well-placed banishing charm, literally wet their pants at whatever embarrasing moment you choose with merely a snap of your fingers. They can hold up to three gallons of water and have a circumference-"

"Stop it, George, you'll scare her off," the other boy said, bemusedly. "I'm Fred Weasley. Welcome to our not so humble adobe." He bowed inelegantly.

She studied the two. Obviously twins, they were practically identical, both with straight red hair that appeared to have just darkened slightly from a more carroty shade. They had tilted, trouble making grins, sprinklings of freckles, and middling height, sturdy builds. The attitude they bore about them was one she had seen many times before; the careless, insane joviality of the mishief maker, combined with an intelligent mind, who, when under pressure, could prove to be remarkably resourceful and perilous. Jenny liked them at once.

"Jenny Philips," she greeted them, giving them a rare, true grin. "Quite an operation you have here."

"Thanks," they chorused, eager expressions lighting up their youthful faces.

"Remarkable at your age, prodigious even," she complimented them. "Say, are you two related to Bill and Charlie?"

Their smiles vanished quickly. "Not another one," Fred groaned.

"Another what?" she asked, puzzled.

They quickly adopted falsettos. "Oh, you must be Billy's precious little brothers. I heard he's back from Egypt, ask him if he remembers me. Is it really true he's dating a girl who's part veela? They're dangerous, y'know." "How's dear Charles in Romania? Honestly, I hope he doesn't get himself killed by those dreadful beasts, do y'know when he'll be back?"

"Enough, enough," she said, laughing. "Don't be ridiculous, I used to baby-sit them."

Their mouths dropped open. "Baby-sit them?" George asked incredulously. "Hell, I figured you for Bill's age!"

"Nice of you," she said dryly. "I'm nearly twelve years older than him."

"Hang on, I think they mentioned you!" said Fred suddenly. George turned to him in disbelief as he continued. "You're the one who took them to Blackpool pier and brought the boyfriend who taught them to fly."

Jenny laughed. "That wasn't my boyfriend, just a friend, but yeah, that's me."

"Charlie became a very good Seeker," Fred informed her.

"I figured he would, the kid was ready to fly before he could walk. The dreadful beasts, those would be dragons, right? Charlie was obsessed with dragons as a kid, his room was plastered with them. I got too busy to watch them as I got older, and Bill was old enough. Let's see, I remember hearing about you two being born. Which one of you bit the doctor while you were teething?"

"Me!" said George proudly.

"There was another one, too. Percival, right?"

They scowled. "We don't talk about him."

"He went over to the dark side."

"A Weasely became a Death Eater?" she exclaimed, shocked.

"Not V-Voldemort," said George, after a slight hesitation on the name. "Fudge."

"Oh, him," she said angrily. "Him I don't like. Jumped up little ambitous worm. Duffer. He was junior head of the Department of Magical Catastrophies last I was in England. Two friends of mine who worked with that department were constantly at his throats. He used to erase the memory of Muggle witnesses before they could be properly interrogated. Gid and Fab, they hated him. Brilliant hit wizards, those two," she said, with a shake of her head. "If they'd lived, he never would have made Minister."

"Percy's of the same brand," Fred informed her. "Slimy traitor, sided with Fudge over his own family. Biggest git in the world." Off hand, he remarked, "Comes with being a prefect, I suppose. How Bill ever came out of that unscathed is beyond me. We'll have to watch little Ronniekins, most prefects don't turn out well."

Jenny looked indignant. "Hey, watch it, I was a prefect."

Fred jumped. "You?" he said, eyeing her up and down. "Didn't see that coming. Head Girl, too, I suppose?"

She shook her head, tosseled curls flying. "No, I wasn't. Neither the Head Boy nor Head Girl that year had been prefects, which doesn't happen very often. It was due to excellent grades and a conspiracy among us Gryffindors." Her eyes twinkled merrily at the thought.

"Conspiracy?" George echoed.

She laughed. "Well, Lily got it because she deserved it. She would have been prefect to begin with, but McGonagall thought she'd take to many points from her own house. But Head Boy, yeah, that was a conspiracy. We made sure he got it."

"Why would she take points off her own house?" the two asked together, suddenly curious.

Her mouth formed a distinctive half smile, and she seemed to gaze into the past before speaking. "There were four boys in our year. I guarantee they were the best pranksters to ever come through Hogwarts- no offense meant to you, of course."

Fred and George watched her, never having been so intent on any adult in their entire existence.

"They called themselves the Marauders..."


	4. Revelations, Returns, and Recruits

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, his world, and all characters associated with him.

Immediately, the boys' eyes grew round and they began to shout at once.  
"The Marauders? Blimey!"  
"I figured the parchment was much older than that!"  
"Who were they? Do we know them?"  
"Were they like us?"  
"Did they open Zonko's?"  
"How many detentions did they get?"  
"Gryffindors, right? 'Cause, if they were Slytherins."  
Jenny held up her hands. "Hey, hey! Slow down."  
They continued to babble, jumping up and down excitedly.  
She stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled, an old trick of Frank Longbottom's. As the ear-splitting sound pierced the air, the Weasley twins winced, covering their ears, and fell mercifully silent.  
"Much better," she said pleasantly, grinning at them. "Now, if I understood any of what you just said, you two found the Marauder's Map?"  
In response, the twins rushed over to the counter and dragged two chairs over, clearly preparing to listen for a while. George grabbed a box of candy, mostly Chocolate Frogs, that Fred had been eating when she came in and began to nibble on them. They watched her with keen eyes, more alert than they had been in all of their Hogwarts classes combined. "Tell us a story, Mummy," chirupped Fred, in a high pitched voice.  
She shook her head. "I greatly pity your mother. How much do you know about them, anyway?"  
They shrugged. "Map didn't tell us much," George answered, mouth full. "Just that they called themselves Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, and that they were clearly great, wise men, preserving their genius for posterity."  
Jenny tried very hard not to crack up. "If they could hear you now..."  
"Why can't they?" Fred asked sensibly. "They dead?"  
She paused. The expression on her face made him wish he had never asked the question.  
George abruptly caused a disturbance by falling out of his chair.  
Fred glanced interestedly down at his brother. "Hmm, I thought I might have gotten a few of our snacks mixed up in there. Fainting Fancies, by the look of it."  
He stood up and examined his brother, then started up, looking quite happy. "Excellent! He's dead."  
"What?" Jenny gasped, starting forward and leaping back when she realized he didn't have a pulse.  
Fred noticed her glare. "Oh, it's nothing to worry about," he said cheerfully. "Just our Croaking Candies."  
"Croaking Candies?"  
He smiled brightly. "Oh yes, but we haven't tested them yet. You see, our Skiving Snackboxes offer assorted candies and the like. You eat one end, and you become sick, enough to get you out of class. Eat the other end, and you're free to enjoy your free time. They come in Nosebleed Nougat,-" Noticing the deadly expression on her face, he froze. "Ah, well, this kind is for the more risk taking prankster. You pop the whole thing in, and it makes you appear as if you're dead for about five minutes. The one side eventually counteracts the other, and presto! you're up in and about, after giving everyone a scare or fooling an enemy so they'll leave you be, whatever. No real danger, you're still alive, but your pulse should be so faint it's indetectable to all but the best of healers. This is our first human test, actually, but I'm quite confident we got the formula right...I think," he said, suddenly a bit nervous as he watched her angrily flashing eyes.  
"Never mess around with death," Jenny said in a distant, infuriated voice. "Even Sirius was never that foolish... and he could be quite the screw up."  
Fred stared at her, shocked. "What did you say?" he said solemnly, in the serious voice he only resorted to on rare occasions.  
She blinked, ruffling her hair. "Death isn't a game, kid."  
"No, about Sirius," he said curtly. "Sirius Black, right?" Something suddenly clicked into place. "He went to school with you, didn't he?"  
"I knew Sirius Black," Jenny said unhappily. "Quite well, actually. Or I thought I did."  
George began to twitch, ever so slightly. His nose wrinkled and his fingers stretched.  
"Moony..." Fred murmured. Instantly, he understood. "That's funny!" he laughed. "Then Padfoot, well, that's a name for the Grim, isn't it! Oh, I'll kill Ron, he knew, I know he knew. George, wake up! I figured it out, George! I-" he gulped.  
Jenny had very stealthily drawn her wand, and she was delicately twirling it between his fingers. She clearly was trying very hard to keep her voice calm, and it emerged in a deadly, silky whisper. George opened his eyes as she began to speak. "I would very much like to know, Mr. Weasely, how you are privy to information long held secret."

"""""""""""""""""'("")"""""""""""""""""""""""

Peter Pettigrew considered himself a very fortunate man. Despite the fact that his former peers would hardly even consider the cowardly fool a man, he suddenly felt light of heart. Word had come, scarcely two days previous, of the demise of Sirius Black at the hands of one Bellatrix Lestrange. His worst fear, wiped from the earth in a matter of moments. Yes, there was still Remus Lupin to contend with...and Harry Potter. But it was only a matter of time for Lupin, and his master would deal with Potter. Wormtail momentarily allowed himself to forget that he was bound to the boy by a life debt. His heart was light, tonight. And there were no other pesky Death Eaters around to ruin his happiness... six were in Azkaban (not for long), and the rest were...occupied.  
A young man in a cloak came suddenly around the corner. His eyes widened, out of respect or perhaps fear. Wormtail liked that. He loved having power, and he had a penchant for the Dark Arts. After all, he had killed twelve people with a single curse. The boy bobbed slightly in a clumsy bow and mumbled something. After a moment, he recognized the kid as one of the new recruits.  
"Flint, isn't it?" Peter said calmly, not trembling in front of a lesser wizard as he did before a greater.  
"Yes, sir," the boy muttered. He had been miserable, sent to the Leaky Cauldron to gather information, Wormtail recalled. Flint'd had a personal stake against one of tonight's targets.  
"I have information for the Dark Lord," Marcus Flint continued nervously.  
Pettigrew flinched. Well, he certainly had no intention of bringing the news and receiving any possible punishment, which usually accompanied bad news. "This way, then," he said shortly.  
Flint froze. "You-you mean I'm speaking to him myself?" he squeaked.  
In response, Wormtail simply opened two tall, black doors, knockers carved into the form of snakes. Their new hideout was a good one, he thought briefly, before a high, cold voice emerged from the room.  
"What is it, Wormtail?" the voice asked indimidatingly. He quaked in his boots, and his voice emerged in a pitched, fretful tone that caused Flint to snicker.  
"Marcus Flint, with news, my Lord."  
Flint's clumsy grin faded, and his beetle black eyebrows came together in nervousness as he stepped in side. Wormtail, curious, followed him.  
Voldemort stood, gazing out a large window, his spindly frame casting shadows across the floor. The glint of his red eyes reflected from the glass. "Speak!" he ordered impatiently.  
"A woman named Guinevere Philips entered the Leaky Cauldron," Flint said hurridly. "In Muggle clothing. The bartender seemed to know her." Wormtail sharply intook a breath.  
"And?" said Voldemort, voice cold.  
Flint swallowed. "I thought you should get the news. I heard Lestrange mention her."  
Voldemort whirled around, infuriated. "Fool! What use is this to me? Why didn't you stay to learn more?"  
Flint fell to his knees, crying pitifully. "Master, forgive me!"  
With a bored expression on his white face, the Dark Lord murmured, "Crucio," almost reverently. He watched, pleased, as the young Death Eater twitched in pain.  
"Master," Wormtail said quietly, cringing at having to draw attention to himself. The eyes of his master flicked to him as Flint screamed.  
"I know this woman," he said, fear and horror rushing through him.  
Voldemort paused, lifting his wand. He turned to face Wormtail, impatience flickering on his cruel features.  
"She ran with Potter's crowd," he said quickly. "A relation of the headmaster of Hogwarts."  
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named paused to consider for a moment. "Another of your old school friends, Wormtail?"  
"Yes, Master," he mumbled nervously. No wonder he was going bald, with all this stress.  
"A relation of Albus Dumbledore's," Voldemort mused. "Could she, perhaps, be turned against him?"  
Wormtail shook his head. "Her father was a Muggle. Surely you remember her, Master."  
The Dark Lord considered.  
Timidly, Wormtail offered a reminder. "She stopped you from killing Black, at Achers Street."  
Voldemort, reminded of the long ago battle, swirled, his robe swishing behind him like the wings of a bat. "Ah, yes, the dueling girl. I'd forgotten her."  
"So had I," murmured Wormtail, nervously. "There was word about ten years ago that she was dead. Supposedly in Albania. It was assumed.."  
Voldemort shook his head, crossing the room. He purposely crushed Flint's hand with his boot, causing the Death Eater to cry out. Wormtail trembled, the Dark Lord was far too close for his liking. "No woman ever came my way till you brought me Bertha Jorkins. Lies, all lies. She did not want to be found. How curious.. " Nagini slithered out of a corner and began to curl around his feet, hissing. Voldemort stroked her as you would a cat. "What did she do, of any note, while I was… away?"

"I did think she was dead." Wormtail began. At Voldemort's impatient hiss, he hurridly changed the topic. "She captured Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. And Rabastan as well. She took an active role in assisting the Auror Moody in Rosier's death."

"In that case." said Voldemort slowly. "We shall inform Bellatrix of her 'resurrection' when she returns from her duties. She may handle this Philips character as she sees fit. Send Bellatrix to me when she arrives," he hissed. He turned to Flint. "You," he ordered. "Go. You may join the others."  
Flint, eyes shining with a strange mingling of fear and devotion, kissed his Master's robes. "Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord." Standing and nursing his damaged hand, he turned and hustled out the door. Wormtail, heart sick with fear of both his old school mates and his master, followed slowly, his cowardice consuming whatever shreds of the man he had once been that still existed. Suddenly, the friends of his past welled up in his mind. James, whom he had betrayed, with his cocky smirk that he wore so often; Sirius, who he'd sent to Azkaban, with his devil may care grin and daredevil attitude; Remus, lifting an eyebrow to express suprise, or to tell them what idiots they were being with out word; then James' girl, Lily, yelling at them as a girl or laughing with them as a woman. And then Jenny entered his mind, her distinctive half smile playing about her lips, confident and annoying. Wormtail shuddered. He felt no guilt about living, but he suddenly feared what Remus and the agravating Miss Philips might have in store for him...

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""""""""""""'

Moody sat patiently in his chair, waiting for the word. It would come. He knew it would come. He was an old man by now, with the stiff joints and old injuries that came with age, yet he still felt as spry as ever. The fight in the department of Mysteries had served only to rejuvenate his fighting spirit. And they'd captured six Death Eaters- seven, if you counted the yet to be identified one with the baby head. Rabastan Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Theodore Nott I, Gaston Goyle, Lesley Crabbe, and Antonin Dolohov all temporarily were secure in Azkaban. Had it been worth the price, though? Black, another one gone from the old days. Moody remembered Black as a boy. How he'd have loved that kid to have been an Auror! The recruits he'd missed out on- Potter, the Prewetts, Evans, Philips, particularly Lupin- had been made up for with the ones he's gotten- Shacklebolt, the Longbottoms, Jones, even fussy Dawlish. Still, Sirius Black's loss stung. It had hit young Potter particularly hard, of course, and he pitied Lupin, losing the last of his old friends. Suddenly, Moody stiffened as he heard a banging noise from outside.  
Nymphadora Tonks, her injuries still healing, burst into the room, blue hair bobbing wildly about her face, which was slightly rounder than usual at the moment. Her eyes, brown for the day, looked bone weary and slightly frightened. "Mad-Eye, there's a woman outside, attacking our men."  
For an old man with a wooden leg, he jumped up awfully quickly. He picked up his magical eye from the glass of water where it sat and popped it back in with an unpleasant squelching sound. "Lestrange?" he questioned.  
Tonks flushed, and her hair turned pink as she did. Until she was fully recovered, her powers were a bit off. "No.." she said, hesitatingly.  
"Spit it out, girl!" he snapped. "We must be prepared at all times to answer the questions our superiors ask!"  
"You're retired," she answered, as he scowled.  
"Vigilance!" he roared. "What is happening? Be aware, be aware!"  
Tonks frowned. "She doesn't look like a Death Eater to me. She wanted to see you, starting running through a list of passwords...dunno what they were supposed to be for. Phlem, he wouldn't let her in, so she apologized politely and hexed him with something I haven't seen before. The others started fighting back, then." She stopped talking when she realized he was rushing out the door, wand drawn and battle fury on his face.  
Moody stopped suddenly short, and Tonks bopped into the slightly hunched, shorter man, knocking herself over.  
A woman with long tangles of smoky curls laughed as she dropped in a swift roll. Dodging a Stunner, she stood and hexed the young gentleman who had been foolish enough to try to hit her. One man rolled about on the ground, moaning as little tentacle things erupted from his skin. Another, white in the face, was backing away from her slowly. A third looked stunned, laying out cold on the ground. Shouts that sounded oddly like the Weasley twins came from behind the hedge incircling Moody's house.  
"That's it, show 'em the old one two thingummy!"  
"Have to teach us that one, eh?"  
The woman stood, shaking her head in mock dismay at the two who remained. "You're the best they've got? Hell, the law and order system clearly has fallen into disarray while I've been gone."  
Tonks watched her, almost gleeful."Good, isn't she? Wotcher, look at Phlem! Stuck up fool he is, all covered with little red tentacles! Brilliant! Hah, who's the freak of nature now?" she said triumphantly.  
Moody stood utterly silent, scanning the woman with his magical eye. He reached slowly into his pocket and drew the photograph of the Order out of his pocket. There had been three people in the picture he had not mentioned to Harry Potter. One, a Miss Hera Jones, stood linked arm in arm with her sister, smiling out at the camera. Poor dear, she'd still been in school. Her death had been so gruesome all mention of it was avoided, even by him. Pelleon Patil, he'd killed himself, apparently rather than face torture and capture, though his death was highly questionable. His older brother, Paddy, he had two girls at Hogwarts now. Moody doubted Paddy would appreciate any mention of his poor brother to any of the classmates of the deceased's nieces. And there she was. Jenny Philips, grinning happily, something she'd done far too little in those days. Sprawled on a log not far over from Lily Potter, then still Lily Evans, her face and form were unmistakeable. He glanced between the girl in the photo and the woman in front of him. Polyjuice Potion wasn't even a possibility. He knew that roll- he'd taught it to her, back when he could still get around a bit better. She fought the same as always, yet her reflexes had quickened, her stride lengthened. She'd never died. Of course.  
Her blue eyes, scarcely a shade darker than Albus', looked up at last and caught his. She lowered her wand, and a slight smile he recalled from years past played momentarily about her lips. "Alastor Moody," Jenny said, by way of greeting.  
Tonks stepped back, alarmed, when for the first time since she'd met him she watched Moody's lips stretch into a smile. "Guinevere," he pronounced, almost warmly. He stepped forward, limping slightly on his wooden leg, to take her outstretched hand. A long time ago, he had met a girl of thirteen who he was to insruct in dueling. He had shaken her hand in a firm grip, until she winced and pulled away first. This time, she did not wince, but seemed to pull her hand away more from respect than lack of strength. He felt a wiry, developed muscle for the brief second their grips met.  
"Where the hell have you been?" he barked at her, not letting his affection slip through and make him appear soft.  
"For the last fourteen and a half years or for the last few hours?" she questioned amiably. "I've been here, there, back again. Antartica, Asia, the Americas, North and South, Australia, to add yet another a, and several places in between. I've been all over Europe to. For the last hour or so, though, I've been getting briefed by your two new recruits."  
"Recruits?" he said suspiciously.  
"Oy, Fred, George," she called, and two redheads popped up from behind the hedge, where Moody thought he could also see what looked like a motorcycle.  
"Them!" he growled as the two approached cautiously. "Rapscallions, scruffy scoundrels, making deals with that blasted Fletcher! No sense of vigilance! Continually forgetting I am not the imposter that taught them at school! I, for instance, would never turn anyone into a ferret!"  
"You turned poor old Elphias Doge into a mouse though, then turned my cat after him," Jenny offered.  
He scowled at her. "Entirely different circumstance."  
She waved a hand. "Ah, Alastor, he had you pegged. If he fooled Albus, he could've fooled anyone- except you, of course," she added hastily.  
"Last time I saw you, you referred to Albus as your uncle," Moody stated, narrowing his eyes at her.  
She frowned. "Having just been filled in on everything that's going on, I'm not too pleased with him right now. He could've found me if he really wanted too, but no, he's going to wait for me to return, prodigally, when I feel like it. Albus always is very big on that. Letting people decide their own fate. To hell with that, see where that's gotten us," she said bitterly.  
"As long as you don't start calling me uncle," he grumbled, then paused and considered her pale countenance and slight tremble. "You heard about Black." It was a statement, not a question, and said gruffly, in an almost derisive manner.  
"His name's Sirius, not Black!" two voices exploded at the same time, more in response to the tone than the name. One voice, naturally, was Jenny, and was relatively calm. The other came from behind, and sounded positively enraged. Tonks.  
The two women stared at each other, equally suprised by the other's reaction. Jenny stepped past Moody and studied the girl closely. "That's not what you really look like," she murmured, eyes following the girl's features.  
Tonks let out a long suffering sigh and a faint 'pop' could be heard. Jenny suddenly found herself looking into a heart-shaped face, with intense blue eyes much darker than her own. A short, stylish cut of black hair hung casually to her ears. The girl looked less than pleased with her appearance.  
Philips started in recognition, then extended her tanned hand to the paler one. "Jenny Philips. You must be Andromeda's daughter. I really did try to stop her from naming you Nymphadora. Oh, my apologies if you like your name."  
"Wotcher, Jenny," said Tonks with a friendly grin. "I'm Tonks, nice to meet you. Horrid name, Nymphadora. Leaves room only for nicknames like Nym and Dora, or worse Nymmy." She shuddered. "You'd think my mother'd understand, with what she's got for a name."  
"Tonks!" called George, pleasantly. "Great to see you. Um, Jen? Some help?"  
Moody was bearing down on the boys, glaring at them and asking questions regarding missing shipments of pixies and the recent encounter with a biting toupee in the Ministry.  
Jenny sidled over, shaking her head. "Alastor, that's no way to treat the latest members of the Order."  
"What?!" he roared.  
She cast her eyes at the other Aurors. None of them seemed capable of listening at the moment. The ones she hadn't harmed mumbled to themselves and cast nervous looks in her direction. "I am here," she said smoothly, "to request your permission to rejoin the Order of the Phoenix." He began to protest, but she cut him off abruptly. "You co-founded it. You have just as much right as Unc.. Albus to accept such offers. You do want me back, don't you?" Jenny asked, traces of the girl she had been in her modest tone.  
Moody gave her a look suggesting she was crazy to suggest anything contrary.  
"In that case," she continued, voice silky, "the Weasley twins are in as well. I promised them, and I do not go back on my word. If they aren't allowed in, well, I'll fight Voldemort on my own."  
"You know I won't allow you to do that," Moody growled. She met his gaze evenly. No, she wasn't going to back down. "Alright," he finally said after a reluctant pause. "But they're only seventeen.."  
"They're brilliant," she said shortly, causing the twins to beam. "They gradu- er, they're out of school. And Alastor..." she let her words hang in the air as she met his gaze. "We weren't even sixteen," Jenny said softly, looking pained.  
How could he dispute that? He nodded, although he flashed a powerful glare in the direction of the twins. He still had one last card to pull. "Their mother," he said curtly.  
"I'll make her see reason," she promised.  
"Up to you, then. As far as I'm concerned, though, you're back... and they're in." He sighed, heavily.  
The twins looked as if Christmas had come early. "Excellent!" they chorused. "It'll make Ron terribly jealous," added Fred. "Almost makes up for him not telling us. Almost. Our Skiving Snackboxes will even up the rest of the odds."  
"Remember, you swore not to market those Croaking things," Jenny reminded them. They nodded, crossing their hands over their hearts and making angel faces.  
She swiveled to face Moody. "Love to stop and chat, but I've got to go. This isn't too far from the Burrow, and now that the Ministry's on the right side again, I'm sure you'll be able to manage a safe Floo connection. I want them safe, and at home," she said, ignoring the protests of the twins.  
"Guinevere, there's something you should know," Moody began.  
She waved her hand impatiently. "Not now. I need to see Remus, clear a few things up. He owes me an apology, for one thing. Anyway, I think I have a good handle on things." She began to stalk back to her bike. Moody opened his mouth to speak again, but changed his mind. Lupin will tell her, he thought.  
"Ah," said Tonks, looking at Phlem, "what exactly did you do to them?"  
"It's actually a cleansing spell, he'll be healthier than he's ever been in his life tommorow," she called as she slung her helmet on. "The others are just a simple Stunner, a few Confunding Charms, the like. They all wear off, no sweat. Bye, boys. See you soon." Jenny jumped on the bike that changed size to accomadate its rider, once big enough to fit Hagrid at one time and most recently, three people, suddenly just the right size for her. Revving it up, she roared out of the street and into the sky, heading in the direction of Remus Lupin's house.  
Fred and George, grinning from ear to ear, whirled to face Moody. "So," George began. "Did we tell you about our fake wands? On sale for three Galleons..."  
Moody's indignant response should never have been said before two such innocent boys as they.


	5. Tea With Moony

It was a quiet cottage he lived in, shabby, but with a well- tended garden and neatly trimmed grass. Moss grew along the slightly crumbling brick wall in places here and there. The ceilings were low on the upper floor, but at least it had one. A padded, heavily locked, windowless room was his basement, with a door that could only be opened by human hands. He could climb up onto the roof if he wanted to, to look at the moon, as long as it wasn't full. Tonight, he sat sighing in the kitchen, too tired to read. It had been good of Dumbledore to give him the night off from his patrol duties for the Order, particularly this night. Remus Lupin ran a hand through his prematurely graying hair, waiting for the water to boil. He thanked Merlin he'd been born a wizard, he was hopeless as a cook. He'd probably end up blowing up the house if he had to even do any culinary related task like boiling tea without magic. And he liked his house, so he wasn't eager to do that. It was small, but it was home.

Slumping into his seat at the table, he rubbed his bleary eyes. He shouldn't be so tired; it was only a crescent moon, he tried to tell himself. But really, he felt suddenly old. Was he really the last Marauder, now? Pettigrew couldn't be counted, of course. Damn. He'd figured James would have been the last one left, growing old with Lily and a household of kids. Not in a million years would Moony have predicted James would be the first to go. And practical Lily, she wasn't one to go out in a blaze of glory. No, the one to worry about doing that had always been Sirius, who took too many chances and treated it all as a joke. Particularly after the Prewetts, they'd feared for Sirius. But Remus had never anticipated Sirius going the way he had. It was almost laughable, really... A familiar put-put sound like a car backfiring made him jerk up his head. He let out a sharp, quick laugh. Now he was really going nuts. Sirius' old bike always made that dratted noise. Of course, he knew Sirius was gone. As a teenager, he and James would probably have plunged right in after the bloke, but he had responsibilities. Remus would never even consider that, now that he was all grown up and knew exactly what the veil was. He'd lost the reckless abandon he'd had as a boy somewhere across the years. Footsteps outside made him jump. It couldn't be Sirius. The bike was… wait. Sirius had given the bike to Hagrid, who had given the bike to... But she was- then again, no body, no confirmation. He was so frustrated, he practically hit himself in the head. How could he have been so foolish? Knowing the sort of world they lived in, how could he have failed to consider the possibility she was alive… but then it wasn't as if he often thought of her…

Rushing to the door, he flung it open just as the woman outside lifted a fist to knock.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, gray eyes meeting blue.

Her lip trembled. "He's really dead, isn't he, Remus?"

"When did you get back?" he said softly, answering her inquiry with another question.

"Tonight," she said, suddenly wielding an unshakeable calm he had never seen before in all the years he'd known her. "I got the news about Voldemort almost seven hours ago. I encountered two young boys by the name of Weasley. A lot like you three were." He didn't fail to notice she left out Wormtail. Good, then she was up to date.

Remus smiled awkwardly at her. "I owe you an apology," he said, embarrassed.

She lifted an eyebrow slightly. "Forgiven a long time ago,.. although it's nice to hear it. Don't worry, I'm not going to brag that I was right and you were wrong."

"Although I was, and you were," he said, feeling better. "You look great, Jen! Haven't aged a day." Comparatively, anyways.

She stepped forward and embraced her old friend, who she hadn't seen in so long. She flashed a rare grin, just for an instant. "You look the same, too," she lied congenially. "Except for this." Jenny reached out ruffle his gray-streaked hair casually, the way she did when they were kids, but pulled her hand back hesitantly, leaving it as a gesture.

"I'm sorry," Remus told her again, much more sorrowfully.

"What for this time?" Jenny asked him, her eyes lackluster for a moment.

"For not even considering the possibility you were alive," Moony said bitterly. "It, ah, just came across as so certain. I mean, Moody wrote your orbit, although he turned it into a lecture on constant vigilance part of the way through, and Dumbledore, he didn't say anything to the contrary. I figured he just didn't want to talk about it." Remus hesitated. "_He_ thought you were dead."

She knew which he Lupin meant. "I suppose you told him?"

"He didn't take it very well. We were gathering up the Order, and your name wasn't on the list. So he asked, and I had to tell him. I thought it was the truth. We didn't talk about the old days often..it hurt too much."

She nodded slightly, looking aggrieved. "Was he the same? Still Sirius?"

Remus sighed. "Come in, sit down. I'm making tea."

Jenny couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. "You? Making tea? That's three words I never thought I'd hear in the same sentence."

He looked at her calmly. "There's no longer anyone else to do it."

She paused at the implication of another dead friend, then shook the memory off. "I'll get it," she told him, stepping over to the magical stove. "I haven't had a good cup in a while," she told him, pseudo- cheerfully. "Been living off coffee. Cappuccinos, frappuccinos, the Starbucks special of the day."

"Starbucks?" he asked confusedly.

"Don't ask," she said, shaking her head.

"Where've you been?" he asked her. "Clearly, you're not dead."

"Never was," Jenny said readily, pouring the tea into chipped green mugs. "Ah, well, I've done a bit of everything. Played hero, caught some Dark wizards, retrieved some artifacts. Hey, do you by any chance need a new wand?" she said hopefully.

Remus looked at her, puzzled. "No. Why?"

She shrugged and continued. "Anyway, I set up a network thing. Society's Arms Legion Affording Magical And Nonmagical Deception Efforts Regarding regulations. S.A.L.A.M.A.N.D.E.R., see?" Jenny said, sounding pleased.

"Sounds like something Lily would come up with," he said, smiling a little.

Her voice came back slightly strangled. "Yeah. It was her idea. I was never that clever. Just something we messed around with as kids. It's an organization, protecting wizards and Muggles alike. Lily was right, some Muggles are smarter when we give them credit for. And Nonmagical includes Squibs, too. Basically, it's sort of a mini army, breaking rules to work with some Muggles who know because of a wizard friend or relation. Won't do us any good against Voldemort, though. This is the smaller stuff- keeping the Muggle tabloids under wraps, keeping control of the magical beasts the government clearly is incapable of handling, retrieving things that could fall into the wrong hands, etcetera. Nothing big." She raised her slim shoulders casually. "It's a good information network, but, er, I wasn't exactly in a good mood while I helped create it, so we didn't have anybody in England. A few in Ireland, but no one where they were in a position to have the news of his return. Which was very blockheaded of me," she admitted, clapping herself on the forehead in admonishment.

"Sounds like you've been busy," Remus remarked dryly. "Dangerous work, I assume?"

She perched on the seat across from him, passing him his drink. She sipped hers slowly, staring into the murky drink as if it held the secret of life. "Define dangerous."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she relented. "Ah, well, I suppose. I've done some dragon chasing in China when the Court of Magic lost control of a few Fireballs, handled that stupid yeti countries are always sending teams to chase down. There was a crazy bunch of African voodoo wizards my group had to handle, a couple of nutter vampires in Los Angeles recruiting Muggle kids hooked on vampire telly shows. Nothing as bad as what we were up against with Voldemort, but yeah, a few of my friends have been killed in the line of duty. Still, we've helped people, saved more lives than we've lost. Plus, none of the governments have any clue as to our existence. I figured James would have approved," she said, speaking rather humbly and attempting not to show off. Remus had known Jenny for years, and would have betted money (which he had precious little of) on the fact that if anything, she was underemphasizing what she'd been doing. When she'd left England, the girl had been spitting mad and looking for trouble. It seemed she had found it, and managed to obtain a calm elegance that she'd always had but never managed to sustain. The woman he was speaking with wasn't the brilliant young witch who had a knack for dueling, but an experienced warrior, for lack of a better term.

"How've you been?" she asked, looking up and catching his eyes. "Fred and George said you taught them Defense Against the Dark Arts in their fifth year. They couldn't believe it when I mentioned you were Moony, but they said it explained how they never managed to prank you."

"How'd they know about us?" Remus asked, meaning the Marauders and mildly surprised. He didn't think Harry would have told them about it, but perhaps Ron.."

"They found the Marauder's Map in their first year. Didn't you know? They said they gave it to Harry Potter, which was fitting, really," Jenny mused.

"Ah, that explains a lot," said Remus, nodding. "I always rather fancied Harry found it himself, but he doesn't seem the type." He waited for the anticipated question about Harry, what he was indeed like, but Jenny swiftly changed the topic.

"I did wonder why you and Sirius never told them about you. Next time they see you, they'll be worshipping you. The Marauders are their idols," she said, smiling faintly. "Good boys. I got them into the Order, but I'll have to talk to their mother, apparently. Can't say I fancy having that talk with Molly."

Remus paused for a moment, then remembered Jenny mentioning long ago of a baby-sitting position she held for a few summers and two young boys named Weasley who she watched. That would be Bill and Charlie, of course. "You're back in already? Did you speak with Dumbledore?"

She shook her head. "No, dropped by Moody instead. Speaking with my uncle is yet another conversation I don't fancy, considering how we parted."

Remus winced, reminded they, too, had parted angrily.

"I met Andromeda's daughter, also. Tonks?"

Moony laughed. "Oh, she's a character, that one. She got very attached to Sirius. Hasn't been taking his death well."

Jenny flinched slightly. "I can't seem to accept he's dead. It doesn't seem real.. There has to be some way to get him back."

His eyes widened in horror. "Jen, you can't possibly be thinking of jumping in after him or something, can you?"

She laughed slightly, a gallows laugh. "No, though I bet the Weasley twins would do it if I asked. Joking, Rem," she added hastily. "I'm not a fool. I know what the veil is, I've dealt with similar articles before. Even if there was a way out. we wouldn't be able to help. And honestly, would Sirius even want to come back? How was he, really?"

He considered a moment, debating the point in his head. "He wasn't wishing himself dead, if that's what you're implying. He became very depressed, though, all things considering. He wasn't able to help; trapped in his old house, which he hated; imprisoned in a way not so different from Azkaban. He heard about Alice and Frank, he knew there was an attack, but he figured they were dead, not insane. Snape goaded him, dropping by to lord over him that he could help while Sirius couldn't. Even Harry, insisting he stay safe. With the Order back, memories return, if you know what I mean. On top of everything, he'd never even considered the possibility you might be dead. It all hit him pretty hard at once."

She looked both angry and sad. "Albus could've let him do something. He had to have some idea what would happen. That man, he believes so much in fate, just lets things happen. People should make their own fate, in my opinion. Sirius never could just sit around. The way he went. it's unfair, it was almost meaningless. And Sirius always played such an important role in the Order. And Moony, if you say life isn't fair, I swear to Godric, I'll hex you," Jenny said vehemently.

"I tend to avoid clichés," he told her. "You're right, of course. If he had to die in battle, getting sent through the veil isn't the way he would have chosen. It's ironic, even. Do you remember the first time we saw the veil?"

Jenny looked down into her tea. "All too easily."

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""""""""""

"Weird place, Lil," James said, slightly nervously.

Lily looked a bit pale herself. "Well, Dumbledore wanted us to retrieve a Time Turner. This is where they're made. And I do have clearance."

"Doesn't change the fact that it's weird," Sirius chimed in, eyes wide. "Hell, are those brains?" He extended his hand to touch one, but their guide slapped his hand down.

"Don't touch," Bode reprimanded. He wasn't that many years older than the recent Hogwarts graduates, but he carried a pompous air about him and acted as if he were many years their senior. Not a bad guy, just not a lot of common sense.

"What are they?" Remus inquired, studying them with his intelligent eyes.

"None of your business," Bode said, sniffing.

Peter trembled at the darkness and odd glows of the chambers they passed through. Jenny sighed. Taller than the short boy, she leaned down and reassured him slightly. Once she was certain he was calm, and not realizing he was offended, she put on a slight burst of speed and caught up with the others.

"Hey," she said playfully, hooking her arm with Sirius'.

He looked like a little boy in a room full of toys as they passed through rooms loaded with dangerous objects, some of which had markings saying 'explodable' or 'highly dangerous'. "Damn, I'd kill for a handful of this stuff. Bode, is it true you guys try to resurrect the dead here? Bring back zombies?" Sirius growled, imitating zombie claws.

"Grow up," Lily told him, turning back to her conversation with James.

"We do not try to bring back the dead!" Bode said, getting touchy. "Common misconception that derives from some of the death related articles we have here."

"Sure," Sirius drawled. His eyes alighted on a slight glimmer, and he dragged Jenny towards it, calling, "Prongs, Moony, check this out!!"

A long, dark curtain that seemed to catch the shadows that clustered about the room hung there, gently swaying although there was no breeze. Jenny pulled back from it, shuddering. For a moment there, she thought she heard her mother's voice, warning her back. "Sirius, come away from there."

James approached, gazing at the curtain as if entranced. Something called him towards it, and he stepped closer to the veil, which, almost transparent, reminded him almost of a dementor's cloak. Lily, equally, seemed impressed.

Remus looked at it, raising an eyebrow. "What is it? Looks just like some crummy old curtain to me. What's the big deal, guys?"

Wormtail, following them, began to tremble more thoroughly then ever before.

Whispers rustled about the veil, drawing Sirius toward it. He stepped closer, and Jenny gripped his arm more tightly than before, a new voice rising above the whisper she had heard of her mother's. This voice was young, familiar- a girl who had died when they were still in school. And it came to the living girls strongly, causing Lily to jerk from her trance and look around wildly.

_Not here. Not now... It's not time...  
_

Sirius, almost in a trance, shook Jenny off with ease. Stepping forward, hand outstretched, he stumbled slightly, nearing the veil.

Just in time, James looked up, and his Quidditch reflexes served him well as his hand shot out and caught the back of his friend's collar as easily as he would catch the snitch. The daze was broken, and the whispers faded abruptly.

Sirius shook his head, dazed. "What the hell was that?"

Bode, finally realizing they weren't behind them, came dashing out, arms waving wildly. "No, no! Get away from there!"

With no objections, they stepped away from the dark veil.

"What is it?" James demanded.

Bode hesitated, and shuddered at how close they've been to the veil. "Apparently, it's a gateway between life and death. One way only, though. I'm sure you can guess which way. You've heard of the metaphor 'a veil between life and death'? Well, this is it."

Sirius looked horrorstricken. "Bloody hell!"

"Owe me one again, Padfoot," James said, smirking. "Watch your step, Black- I might not be there to catch you next time."

Sirius frowned, ignoring James. "Hey, can we just move on?"

As they headed towards the chamber where time devices were stored, he could be heard to mutter, "Should have a bloody guardrail around that damned thing."

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""(""")"""""""""""""""""""""""

Remus and Jenny didn't discuss the memory, but both paused and could tell the other was recalling the same event.

Finally, Jenny cleared her throat slightly and began hoarsely, "Did he talk about Azkaban?"

Moony rubbed his forehead. "He avoided the topic like the plague. His eyes, though - they were haunted, Jen, you've never seen the like. Twelve years in there, and he somehow managed to retain his sanity. But he was changed, alright, deeply scarred by it. He wasn't as casual about everything as he'd once been. Sirius took everything harder, more personally. And he still took risks. It's hard to explain."

"When I heard he escaped, I should have come back," she said quietly. "I was afraid- if he'd done it, I'd have to catch him, try at least. I am an Auror, after all."

Remus' head jerked up. "Since when?" he asked, almost accusingly.

"First thing I did when I left. Stopped in Ireland, claimed I'd already taken the training, took the test, and passed. I'm officially an Auror. But we're digressing," she murmured, rubbing her forehead and taking another sip of tea.

"Look, Jenny, you have nothing to feel guilty about. You at least tried to get him a trial," Remus pointed out.

"Not because I thought he was innocent, but because I wanted him to be," she informed him. "As a matter of fact, you're the one who so delicately pointed that out to me. And it had more to do with justice than anything else. My father was a Muggle lawyer, if you recall. He found the whole Wizengamot court system ridiculous. I tried, I guess, but it wasn't enough."

"You had other worries," he consoled her.

"I didn't handle it well," Jenny said, berating herself. "If I'd gone to Frank first, instead of waiting, he might have been able to help me. I should have gone after the living, first, rather than worrying about the dead. So many things would have gone differently if I'd taken off after Sirius rather than heading to Godric's Hollow over Lily and James. I should've."

"What ifs, what could have beens won't do any good," Remus interrupted. "They didn't take you seriously, which truly was a shame, but you have to admit, you were biased when it came to Padfoot."

"Biased?" she repeated, bemused. "Sure, I dated the guy, whether he knew it or not, but we were long broken up by then."

Moony smiled. "You saw him on and off for five years, and ended it only about six months before that Halloween. I'd say that's pretty biased. You're right, you didn't want him to have done it. And you were right. Jenny, honestly, you did the right thing. Those days were so tumultuous, it's a miracle you even managed to make an attempt."

"Didn't work, though," Jenny sighed. "I lost my job- not that I gave a damn- , my relationship with my uncle, my friendship with you."

Remus grinned at her. "Oh, but it was worth it to hear the telling off you gave Crouch."

Jenny smirked, an expression uncannily like the one James used to pull. Setting her cup on the table, she drummed her fingers against it. "That was good, I admit. Still, it lost me my reputation as a hero after catching Lestrange and her fellows. I should have killed that bitch, Rem. But I couldn't bring myself to do it then. Doubt I'd have any problem now. She's the one who got Sirius, right?"

His gray eyes darkened. "Yes, she hit him with a red bolt. It might have been a Stunner, mayhap the disarming spell, but either way it sent him flying back. Right through the veil. Didn't come out on the other side, of course. There's nothing there but the other side of that blasted curtain. Just was sort of pulled into it- right into death, I suppose." It was his turn to sigh heavily.

"I should have killed her," she repeated, quietly. "It would have saved me a lot of dirty work this time around. I'm developing a hit list- Kreacher, Lestrange, Uncle Albus," she said, half jokingly.

He stifled a smile. "Sirius went there to save Harry. Planning on killing him, too?"

Jenny looked suddenly guilty. "Is he a good kid, Moony?"

Remus shrugged. "He's a hero, no question there. Poor kid's been through a lot lately, besides normal teenage angst. A friend of his was killed in front of his eyes at fourteen, did you hear?"

She nodded. "Yeah, Diggory. Fred mentioned it in passing. I'll have to pay my respects to Evelyn and Amos if I ever find the time."

"Well, he's been angry lately, trapped at the Dursleys' each summer without news. He's been very active against Voldemort. Harry's survived him five times already, if you count when he was a baby and a past incarnation in a diary. His scar - the purple lightning bolt we heard about, it's really there- it connects him to Voldemort. Harry can sense his moods, sometimes see visions. Voldemort used it to trick him into going to the Department of Mysteries. He…he thought he was going there to save Sirius," Remus said painfully.

She shook her head, sorrow in her bright blue eyes. "I despise irony. Does- does he take after James?"

"A bit," Remus conceded. "He has a rival in Slytherin, he hates the Dark Arts with a passion, and he plays Seeker. He inherited James' hero complex, that's for certain. But Harry doesn't really play pranks, and he stands up for the weak. Which, really are more traits of -"

"Lily," she finished, looking pleased. "He has her eyes, too, I remember. I wish things had gone differently."

"Dumbledore made his decision, you just wouldn't accept it. If I recall correctly, you nearly fought him over it. I seem to recall you storming about this very kitchen in a fury, then saying it wasn't worth it and taking off," Remus said, amusement in his gray eyes.

"I felt terrible, at first," she said slowly, eyes downcast in shame. "After all, I'm supposed to be his bloody godmother. I warned Lily I was awful with children! I mean, Uncle Albus did forbid us to contact him, but only until school age. You didn't meet him till third year, anyway, so you waited your own good time. Once I was gone. I couldn't bring myself to come back. In fact, if I hadn't gotten the news about Voldemort, I might never have returned. My life hasn't been horrible for the past fourteen or so years. I've been lonely at times and there have been some, er, difficult cases, but I've done quite well, considering I left England with only the clothes on my back and my wand in my pocket. To be honest, I've never even thought of Harry, except for once when Hagrid wrote me for pictures of Lily and James."

Remus looked up sharply. "He wrote you, too? He knew you were alive?"

She smiled sheepishly. "I wrote the big guy Christmas cards. He managed to trace the owls back to one of my more diminutive contacts, but it got through to me eventually. I sent Harry a bunch of Lily and James after they were married, and one I took at their wedding of them and Sirius. I couldn't part with the old school ones."

"Me either," Remus admitted. 'I just sent him baby pictures and stuff, after we were grown up."

Her eyes shimmered, perhaps with a glimmer of a tear. "Twenty one, Remus, is hardly grown up. We were barely more than kids. Hell, Harry will be that age in less than six years."

"We had to mature quickly, though," Remus said solemnly. "Harry's already at that dark place we were in the Voldemort years. He learned how to face dementor's when he was thirteen."

She raised an eyebrow. "The Patronus charm?" She whistled, low, then reconsidered. "Though you and Lil could manage that when you were twelve…"

Remus, to his credit, did not blush as he once would have. "When the dementors come near him, he can hear _them_."

"Lily and James?" she said, horrified. "You mean right before they died? Poor boy."

"His Patronus is a stag," he added, causing her hand to go to her mouth.

As if searching for comfort, she lifted the cup to sip her tea, which was slowly becoming colder. "Prongs," she murmured. Remus only nodded, choked up with the memories.

"Does he do best with Charms like that? Or is he more his father's son, with Transfiguration?" Jenny asked after a moment's clear silence.

Remus grinned wolfishly. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, actually. And he's not a bad duelist. He favors your favorite spell, actually."

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. "Does he, now." She knew exactly what he meant.

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"Expelliarmus!"

James, hair flying and wand arm propelling wildly, slammed into the stone wall. Angrily, he stood up, glasses askew. "Not funny, Philips," he growled.

Clear laughter carried over like a bell from the pretty redhead across the way. Sirius barked out a quick shot of laughter, and a smile appeared on Remus' lips. A whooping laugh came from above on the stairs.

"What the hell was that, anyway?" James demanded, hazel eyes meeting the blue orbs of the twelve year old girl across the way. Having just gone through a growth spurt, she was temporarily taller than all the boys, excluding Sirius, who stood half a head taller than anyone else.

She flipped her tousled brown hair casually and let her best friend answer for her. "That's for us to know and you to look up," Lily Evans said with casual indifference.

A girl's voice, trying to restrain laughter, yelled down from the staircase, "It's a dueling spell, Potter!"

"Like that does me any good, Callie!" he yelled back up, wand still pointing at Jenny.

"Disarming spell, James," said Sirius smoothly, restraining his laughter. "If you'd like to see it again, I'm sure Miss Philips will be more than happy to demonstrate."

Lily scowled. "Yeah, on you, Black," she retorted.

"It'd be no trouble at all, James," Jenny said with a laugh. She switched gears quickly. "Say, you going out for the Quidditch team this year?"

James suddenly forgot his fury. "Definitely. Alex says I'm as good as in." Smugly, he added, "Alex wanted me on last year, but the team was full and McGonagall wouldn't let him kick Trevor off. Now that he's graduated, Alex says we even have a shot at beating Ravenclaw if I join!"

"Sirius? What about you?" Jenny asked, ignoring the other boy when she realized he was about to go on yet another rant on why first years should be allowed to play.

The taller boy flicked back his black hair and smiled triumphantly. "I'm a decent Beater. I'll try out, I suppose. You?"

Jenny grinned eagerly. "Absolutely. What about you, Remus?" The boy in question looked mildly surprised to be asked, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm awful on a broomstick. I had trouble even getting it off the ground in flying class."

"At least you got it off the ground," Lily mumbled. Only Jenny knew of her fear of heights, which left her stricken with terror of riding broomsticks.

"No need to ask Pete," Sirius said joshingly, and the fourth boy blushed. "Got on the wrong way in our first year, right?"

Peter, embarrassed, merely shook his head.

"Better get up to the dorm," Lily said sensibly to Jenny. "We don't want to get locked out. The Sorting ran longer than usual at the feast tonight; people might be hitting the sacks earlier."

"How would you know it ran longer than usual?" James laughed contemptuously. "You only have ours to compare it with."

Lily shot him a death glare and the girls trooped up the stairs. Wanting to get to the common room and grab James' invisibility cloak from his trunk, the boys trailed them.

"Those idiots are following us," Lily murmured.

"Why am I not surprised?" Jenny sighed. "On your guard, I saw them with a bag of Dungbombs on the train."

"On the count of three, we'll run ahead of them," the redhead whispered, green eyes flashing. "One… two… three!"

The girls raced up the stairs as fast as their long legs could carry them. James moved to start after them, but Remus gripped his shoulder.

"No point, mate," the werewolf said wisely. "We'll get them later."

Purposely dragging behind, they arrived to the seventh floor, where Gryffindor tower was located, only to find Jenny slumped against the wall in dismay and Lily wrangling with the portrait.

"We're Gryffindors!" Lily exclaimed in annoyance, auburn hair swishing. She pointed to the insignia on her robes. "See? House of the Lion." She noticed the boys. "You know Potter and his friends- how could you forget them? That's not a compliment!" She shot in their direction.

"No password, no entrance," the Fat Lady boomed. "Sorry, dears."

Sirius growled slightly. Since being locked outside for a full night for a rude retort, even though he had the password, the boy had a growing enmity for the portrait. As a Black, the woman refused to acknowledge him or accept him fully as a Gryffindor. The preteen, growing up in a house full of the paintings of his ancestors, hated pretentious portraits with an unequaled passion. Certainly, there would be trouble.

"You old bat, let us in!" he ordered angrily.

The Fat Lady sniffed.

He tried another tactic. "Oh great wise incredibly obese woman decked in an obnoxious pink dress, please grant us entrance in to the chamber which your enormously large body blocks." He took a deep breath and prepared to continue, but James clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Not helping," the other boy scolded.

The Fat Lady's face had turned a bright purple, and she was ignoring Lily's pleas now. Sputtering meaningless words, her throat throbbed up and down with upset. She had a fondness for James, though, and the future Quidditch player decided to try his luck.

Still holding Sirius' mouth, he pleaded politely, "We're very tired and my thick-headed friend is just a bit cranky. Couldn't you break the rules just this once and let us in? Please?"

The Fat Lady calmed down a bit, but huffed indignantly as she spoke. "You'll have to get the password."

James sighed and released Sirius before the taller boy broke free. His friend scowled at James, who simply straightened his crooked glasses in annoyance at their predicament.

"This is all your fault, Evans!" he said vehemently.

"I'm the one who hexed you," Jenny pointed out practically. "And I only did so because you pestered us all through dinner, tried to slip us those jinxed sweets, and snuck up behind us with the intent of cursing us. You delayed us in coming up the stairs to begin with, so really, James, it's all your fault."

"I, for one, have no intention of staying out here all night with these bullying, big-headed pricks," Lily said with anger. She turned to her friend expectedly.

Jenny scowled. "I am not going to my uncle's office to get the password! I'm not even positive he knows it! McGonagall's room is within Gryffindor house, and even if it weren't, I wouldn't go to her either! And no, I'm not going to tell you where Uncle Albus' office is so you can go to find him. Besides, I don't even know his password."

"We know where his office is," Remus began.

"And the password," Peter added squeakily.

"We also have no intention whatsoever of going to ask him for it," Sirius finished.

"I have a better plan," said James with a sly grin. "Too bad my Inv- I mean, all our supplies are inside. Otherwise, this would be quite the opportunity. Still, I think I know how we can get in."

"How?" Lily asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

James folded his hands triumphantly and lowered his voice, beckoning them near. He uttered only one word. "Nick."

"Brilliant," Sirius breathed.

"It's fool-proof," James explained. "Even if he doesn't know the password, he'll be more than willing to walk through the wall and find someone awake to open it for us."

"But it means we have to find him," Lily pointed out. "Do you have any idea how big this castle is?"

"Actually-"

"Rhetorical question, Potter. If we just want someone to open the door, why not just pound on it?" Evans suggested.

"Takes all the fun out of it," James pouted.

Sirius, though, had a more rational explanation. "It's soundproof. Believe me, I've tried before."

Jenny turned to James, a faux smile on her face. "In which case, your idea is absolutely genius. Can we hurry up and start looking for him? You do have a plan to find him, right?"

James froze for an instant, but recovered quickly. "Err- sure. We ask the portraits."

"Not her," Sirius declared, venom in his tone, indicating the guardian of Gryffindor tower.

"Uh-huh, fine, whatever," Lily said hastily, with a slight roll of her eyes. She despised going along with James' plans almost as much as she despised him.

"Where would I go if I were dead?" Remus mused, casting his eyes about.

"Upward?" Sirius suggested, pointing to the ceiling.

"Already chosen their lot, ghosts have. Not heading up anytime soon," Jenny stated automatically, as if reciting from a textbook.

"Right then," said Sirius warily. Turning to Peter, he shook his head in mock despair.

"Secretary, please take 'becoming a ghost' off my today list."

To everyone's surprise, Peter caught onto the joke. Raising his voice slightly, he said, "Right then, sir. You heading down, then?"

Sirius was the only one who cracked up, but Peter still looked pleased with himself.

"Seriously," Lily said in exasperation, then clapped her hand to her mouth.

"Darling, I'm always Sirius," he drawled, unable to resist. That joke had gotten tired by the first week of first year, yet he rarely missed an opportunity.

"It's night," Remus mused. "Ghosts don't sleep- do they?"

Lily confirmed the negative with a shaking of her head, which sent her wavy hair flying about her face. James, unobserved by the others, stared at her in awe for a split second before he shook himself and snapped out of it. He hated Evans, he reminded himself. Or at least really, really disliked her. Or.

Jenny interrupted James' internal musings with a continuation of Remus' thought. "If they don't sleep, then what do they do? I know some of them read; I've seen the Ravenclaw ghost reading a transparent book. Nearly Headless Nick doesn't seem the reading type."

"Stargaze?" Sirius suggested, and everyone turned to look at him. He was offended. "Hey, I am brilliant. Try not to forget that."

"You do so little to remind us," Jenny said scoffingly. He scowled at her, narrowing his dark brows.

"I suppose it's a possibility," Lily said, wavering between giving credit to Sirius for his good idea and going traipsing somewhere with this bunch, or trying to come up with a better idea. She gave in. "Alright, then, Astronomy Tower?"

With nods of their heads in agreement, they set off, James leading the way as usual which earned angry glances from Lily.

"Lil," said Jenny after a few minutes.

"Yep?" the redhead answered, breaking her death gaze in Potter's direction.

"I think we're heading to the wrong tower."

"What?" said Lily, surprised.

"This is north. Astronomy Tower's south."

"How do you know that?" Sirius called from a bit up ahead, causing them to jump. He had better hearing then they thought. But he sounded genuinely curious.

"Watch," Jenny said, holding up her wrist.

Peter looked baffled, mousy brown hair becoming musseled as he rubbed his head. "Watch what?"

"No, you dolt, her watch," Sirius said impatiently. "A compass, huh?"

The watch, with a silver band, had a black face with all sorts of strange figures on it. Minute silver knobs and dials decked the sides. At the moment, a needle pointed straight in the direction they were heading- dead north.

"Where are we going, then?" Lily demanded, glaring at black.

He flashed his pearly white teeth. "James determined the North Tower was a far more likely spot. It might have something to do with the fact we've never been there before and have been aiming to explore it."

Lily's pretty, heart-shaped face turned red with anger. "I'll kill him," she said angrily. "Dragging us along on one of your bloody escapades."

A sleepy voice emerged from one of the portraits on the wall, causing all of them to startle and turn. "What ho, fair maiden! Killing, escapades! Call upon the great and mighty Sir Cadogan to come to your aid!"

Everyone, excepting Sirius, looked amazed and bewildered. The young boy beamed. He may have finally found a portrait he could agree with. The short, squat knight, bedecked in clanking armor, had woken up and practically leaped up and down with excitement.  
T

o the confusion of all, he launched into a strange form of speech. "Good and mighty Sir Cadogan, your deeds have traveled far and wide to my humble ears! I am but a mere squire at your service, my liege. I am called Sirius, one day to be Sir Sirius, and am on a quest with these, my good fellows, ladies, and trusted servant," he said, indicating James, Remus, the girls, and Peter respectively. Had Peter understood, he would have been furious.

"We search for the noble and mighty Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Popington-"

"Porpington," Jen corrected.

"Yes, Porpington, a knight killed in a great and glorious battle with an ax, no less great nor greater than thy esteemed self, mighty sir. We have been traversing long and far seeking thy aid in this perilous quest. Would you, good sir, grace us with your precence and lead us to the wayfaring knight. We fellows, sir, humbly beg it of thee."

"He's mad, Jen, absolutely bally mad, the whole blooming lot of them," Lily murmured to her. Her friend, however, could not answer, too busy was she restraining her giggles.

Sir Cadogan, beaming in pleasure that his services were required, leaped onto the back of his fat pony with excitement. "Bless you, good sir! A quest truly is a noble and perilous challenge! The good knight Sir Nicholas indeed did pass this way, noble soon-to-be Sir Sirius! Come, away! We must find the mighty wandering knight so that he may aid ye, good ladies and noble sirs!"

He galloped off on the pony, heading out of one painting and crossing in front of a group of dancing ladies, who screamed.

Sirius, grinning madly, galloped off after him as if he were riding a hobbyhorse. James and the others raced after him. Lily shouted, "I told you he was mad!"

Whirling round corridors and up staircases, the ragtag group finally stumbled straight into Nick, who was explaining something about a Nearly Headless Hunt to a bored looking Grey Lady. Sirius galloped right through him before pausing and rejoining the others. Nick frowned at them as they approached. James and Sirius had discovered at the end of last year how to prank a ghost, a theory they still had not managed to sufficiently explain to anyone else.

"Thank you, noble Sir Cadogan! If ever I have need of your stout heart-"

"Or noble sinew," Cadogan suggested, "or mighty muscles, or brawny brain-"

"Right, all of those," Sirius said gleefully. "I would then, good sir, call upon you again in crisis to aid me and my fellowship, oh great one. Though art as a role model and father to me-"

"Oh, do shut up," said Jenny irritably. To her surprise, he did. Saluting the preening Sir Cadogan, he turned to face Nick.

"Now, dear Sir Nicholas." he began.

"Enough, Mr. Black," said Nearly Headless Nick, looking disappointed as the Grey Lady drifted away. "What do you want from me? Why aren't you in bed? It's getting late," he reprimanded.

"We got locked out, Nick, and we wanted to know if you could help us," James asked, eyes pleading.

"I don't know the password," he started.

"Just get somebody to open the door. Please, Sir Nicholas?" Jenny said, eyes wide and innocent. The ghost hesitated, then smiled. He patted her on the head, careful not to let his hand pass through her. She tried not to wince as an ice cold sensation raced through her.

"I'll see what I can do," he promised, then slipped through the floor.

They ran back to the common room as fast as they could, only to find a protesting, bleary (possibly drunk) Fat Lady swinging open.

Frank Longbottom, a fourth year with a nice smile, stood there holding it open. "Oy, Potter, Black. Lucky my friends and I were up playing Gobstones. "Hey, Evans, and Philips, isn't it? Your dormmates have been worried about you. Alice Anderson kept coming over to ask if I'd seen you. Tell her you're all right for me, will you? Oh, and Nick says you owe him one."

"Thanks, Frank," said Jenny with a disarming smile. "C'mon, Lil." The two headed up to their room, Lily casting nasty glances over her shoulder at James.

"Can we get in on that Gobstones game?" James asked as they stepped inside, Sirius immaturely sticking his tongue out at the Fat Lady.

"C'mon, Sirius. We're twelve, that's nearly an adult," Remus said as they stepped in.

The other boy only laughed in response.

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"I'm afraid to meet Harry, almost," Jenny said, sadly. "I'll see Lily and James in him, and I don't have an- excuse. I wasn't- there. Still don't want to face all that."

"Sirius and I deal with it fine," Remus informed her. "I just saw him two days ago, when he took the train back home from school."

She laughed. "No, you don't deal with it fine. I'd bet money that Sirius treated him as if he was James, and you act like he's not even related to them. You try to like him for himself, which isn't a bad thing. I can't do either, though. I'm not sure if there's a happy medium." She cast her eyes about the room, as if searching for another topic. Her eyes landed on something at the edge of the kitchen counter. She paused, concerned.

"That mirror..." she murmured.

"Which reminds me!" Remus laughed, springing to a drawer. Pulling a dust covered mirror out of it, he blew some of the dirt off. Handing it to Jenny, she looked to see her reflection, which hadn't changed much from the time she was twenty one. There were lines that hadn't been there, though, and her eyes hadn't looked so sad and closed. She turned it over, reading her name, Jenny Philips, engraved in a loopy, curvy print with a clever charm of Lily's.

"Thanks," she told him warmly, "but that's not my point. Why do you have your Order mirror out?"

He frowned. "You stopped by Moody's and you didn't hear about the alert?"

Suddenly, her teacup was spinning precariously on the table as she jumped to her feet. Gone was the casual woman he'd been talking to, a dangerous fighter stood in her place. Her wand was in her hand before he even saw her fingers twitch. Her reflexes had greatly improved. "What alert?" she demanded.

"There have been some suspicious Muggle deaths in the Kent and London areas and our source among the Death Eaters- Snape, naturally- says rumor has it among them there will be two attacks tonight. Everyone's on the alert. We have patrols in the Diagon Alley section, Knockturn, Azkaban, a team in Kent run by Dedalus Diggle."

She was staring at him with an expression of utter dismay. "Voldemort's target is Harry Potter, isn't it?"

"We have tons of people at Privet Drive," Remus assured her. "Some new recruits Charlie Weasley assures us are trustworthy. Foreigners, yes, but- what's wrong? What is it?"

"Have you all gone soft over the past fifteen years?" she exclaimed. "Have you forgotten Voldemort's tactic? Cause suffering before the kill? It's a trick, Rem, I know, I've spent the past decade studying warfare and strategies. If he attacked Kent and London, he'll go for Ireland, Scotland, someplace we're not anticipating. Two attacks. Damn, one's a diversion to the other. Think, Remus, which friend of Harry's has the family that is the biggest threat to Voldemort? Which family's death would most hurt the Order?"

The look in her eyes was identical to the one James used to get when he saw the pure, clean line of ruthless strategies, when Sirius planned a prank, when Lily learned a new charm. Passion, pure and simple, for a thing, not a person. She knew this, cold, though she wouldn't have years before. And it came to him, swiftly, as he wondered how he did not see it before. "Merlin," he whispered. "The Weasleys."

Her face was pale, and she blanched. "Heavens forgive me. Oh, Godric, I sent them home. Bloody hell. I sent them home."


	6. Battle at the Burrow

"Calm down," Remus told her. She'd started for the door, but he gripped her arm strongly, holding her back. For a moment, a flicker resembling a trapped doe alit in her eyes, and he had the strange thought she would attack him. After a tense second, she went slack in his grip.

Inwardly, he sighed in relief. "Explain yourself, quickly."

Jenny, face taut with worry, spoke hastily."It was a tactic of Grindewald's I've studied. He'd have preemptive strikes in places he didn't mean to attack. I'd say ireland and Scotland because Voldemort has grudges there."

He did, indeed. Images flashed through Remus' mind- the McKinnons dead in Cork, Hogwarts in Scotland, Achers Street near Glasgow. Yes, Voldemort had never had a solid hold in Ireland, and he'd certainly have a hatred for Scotland. Still, an attack there seemed unlikely, although possible. "How do the Weasleys figure into this?"

"Voldemort might want vengeance, but there is no solid need to attack there. When the attack comes- we're likely already to late for the first one- many members of the Order will rush there, leaving parts of England vulnerable. The Weasleys must have the night off, like you, or whatever you call it."

"Their shift was last night," he confirmed. "How do you know that, though?"

"If Arthur and Molly were involved with any goings on tonight, Fred and George would have mentioned it," she said simply, continuing. "Voldemort wants to hurt Harry, probably more than he even desires immortaltity, at the moment. The boys mentioned Harry's other friend was Muggle born- he'll sure as hell go after her, too, but she's no immediate threat. Since Pettigrew's with him, he's aware of the Order. I'm sure he's managed to figure out the Weasleys are a part of it. They're a pure blood family, Rem, their deaths would stand as an example as the wizarding world. I sent those kids home; now they're in danger, too. I have to do something."

He paused, looking her in the eye. "What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not," she said firmly. "And if I am, the worst I've done is make a fool of myself."

He released her arm, then grabbed his mirror of the counter. "Fine. Let's go. I'll get in touch with the others on the way."

She flashed a brief smile, slightly suprised but pleased. Throwing the door open, they raced outside, to where her bike was parked. Jenny jumped on, not bothering with the helmet. "Hop on!" she yelled, starting it up with a roar and then hitting the stealth buttons to mask both sound and sight.

Remus, reluctantly, climbed on the back. "I'd forgotten how much I hated this blasted thing," he mumbled as they roared away.

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Bill sighed happily as he stepped inside, quite late. He whistled to himself as he hung up his black dragon hide jacket (Charlie would kill him). Eyeing the two lurid green jackets next to it, he frowned in distaste. Fred and George had the worst taste in clothing.

Starting up the stairs, he jumped back with a bang as a fire suddenly roared up. Floo powder! Who was able to set up a safe connection in this day and age!

He soon had his answer as a soot covered Fred rolled out of the fireplace, followed by a remarkably clean George.

"I don't reckon Moody likes us much," Fred remarked to his brother as he dusted himself off.

"Tonks makes up for it, though. An order of six Sniving Snackbox packs isn't anything to sneeze at," George said happily. "Pity about those Croaking Candies. Still, a deal's a deal. Oy, Bill!"

The oldest Weasley brother glanced at them unhappily. "Quiet! Mum'll kill me coming in this late."

Fred's head jerked to his new, diamond encrusted watch. "Four a.m.! Your're a baaaad boy, Billiam."

"That Delacour girl is fiiiine, eh, Bill?" George said wickedly.

"Do shut up," he said irritably, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yes, Fleur is fine. But only I'm allowed to say that, got it?"

They snickered evily.

"On a first name basis, are you?"

"Aren't you supposed to be her superior? Guess she must really have liked that tour of Gringotts you got to give her, hmmm? Wandering all alone with her in the dark, secluded tunnels?" George taunted, waggling his eyebrows.

They would have continued, but their mother appeared at the top of the stairs, hair in curlers and wearing a frayed bathrobe. "What are you doing getting in so late?" she scolded, approaching them.

Bill cringed, although he was grown. His mother still treated him as if he were a teenager, particularly since he was staying at home to conserve money. Switching from being a curse breaker in Egypt to having a desk job in London meant a significant decrease in pay. Luckily, Fred and George caused a stir first.

"Guess what, Mum?" Fred said brightly. "We're in the Order!"

Mrs. Weasley frowned severely. "That's not funny."

"Really, Mum," George protested. "Moody said all right. We're in."

"Oh?" she said, voice raising slightly. "And how in heavens name did that occur?"  
T

They hesitated, glancing at each other. "Don't know if we should rightly say."

Bill glared at them. "They're making it up, Mum, just pulling our legs."

"We're of age!" Fred declared. "Jenny said we were brilliant, the Order could use us."

Mrs. Weasley's blood ran cold. The only 'Jenny' she knew of in the Order was dead, unless it was one of the new recruits Charlie had sent. She was interrupted from asking the question from a squeaking within her bathrobe.

The boys stared at it.

"Your pocket is talking," Bill said with mild amusement.

"One of our products?" George wondered absently.

Nervously, Molly removed the mirror from her pocket. If one looked closely at the back, the name 'Marlene McKinnon' could be seen engraved into the back. Sturgis Podmore's face, usually bright and happy, looked gaunt and drawn, his wheat-blond hair falling into his eyes.

"Molly," he greeted her, gloom in his tone.

"High class, Mum! You got one of those?" Bill remarked, suprised and impressed. The mirrors, he knew, had been created by a dead member of the Order, many years back. They allowed for excellent commmunication, but few were left intact. The solemnity of the situation suddenly struck him at the suddenly grave expression on his mother's face.

"Where was the attack, Sturgis? Are we needed?" she asked anxiously.

The face in the mirror shook his head. "We were too late. The attack came in Scotland, not far from old Achers Street. The Woods, Molly."

Fred and George let out great cries of alarm. Leaping up the stairs, they grappled the mirror from their mother. "Wood? I mean, Oliver, is he okay? He's not-" Fred couldn't bring himself to say it.

Their mother snatched the mirror back as Sturgis answered. "The kid wasn't home, he bunks with his Quidditch team. Liz Wood, Molly, she's dead. They got her sleeping. Damn, she would have hated it. She was a good Auror. Moody's furious, naturally. He trained her, after all. Eli's hurt pretty bad as well. He was awake. Poor bloke's been tortured. We'll have to move him to St. Mungo's of course, but he's in no condition at the moment. We're trying to get in touch with the kid. Elphias Doge is trying to chase some of the Death Eaters down. He's pretty sure it was Mulciber and Wilkes, maybe Travers as well. We've got a few people with him. Anyway, everyone's on guard..." Sturgis' head snapped to look at someone near him. "What are you on about, Hestia? Oh don't be ridiculous, that's mad. In that case, Lupin is off his rocker. Had a bit too much to drink, I'd say. Don't look at me like that, Jones! I'm not going to relay that- Leggo of my fear, Jones, you'll break it!" Hesta's voice could faintly be heard arguing with Podmore, and for a moment, her cherubic face framed with dark curls became visible.

Sturgis, apparently, managed to yank it free. Breathing a bit harder than before, he spoke, clearly not believing a word he was saying. "That was Remus Lupin on Hestia's line. I think he's gone batters, but she's convinced. Anyway, he's of the opinion you're about to be attacked. Says the Scotland attack was a diversion. Diversion, my arse. He's on his way on a - what did you say it was again, Hestia? You're joking. Mad," he repeated, disbelief evident on his face. "He says Jenny Philips is with him and that they're on Sirius Black's flying motorbike."

All color drained from Fred and George's faces. "Merlin!" one of them yelped. "Mum, get off the line, quick. We're in danger. What does he think they're after, Sturgis?"

Confused, the blond man turned to the woman next to them. "All of you, he thinks, but your little brother in particular."

Fred once again snatched the mirror from his mother, who was by now bewildered. "So long, Sturgis," he muttered, as he turned to his brother. "Password to shut it off?"

Bill thought hard, trying to recall what Dumbledore'd said it was. "Mission managed?" he suggested, and the mirror went blank.

Fred and George exchanged furtive looks, then handed the mirror back to Molly. "Bill, did you put up any of those powerful wards you were talking about?"

He blushed. "Just some of the minor ones. Haven't had the time to start on the major ones yet."

"Mum, how are your defenses?" they chorused.

"Decent," she said, confused by their sudden seriousness. "I don't think they'll hold up very well if it's a full-fledged attack, though. Did Sturgis say Jenny Philips?"

The name suddenly clicked. "My old baby-sitter?" Bill said, utterly confused. "She's in the Order? I thought she was dead or something."

"She's not," Fred said briskly. "Better go wake up Ron, Ginny, and Dad, Mum. We don't want them sleeping if we're attacked."

Molly Weasley, staring at her sons, suddenly chose to do as they ordered. Rushing up the stairs, she ran, yelling, into Ginny's bedroom.

"Good thing we came home," George commented. "Don't worry, Bill, we put up our own defenses. Better ones around our shop, of course, but these are quite good."

Bill froze abruptly. "Shhhh..." he hissed. "Did you hear something?"

Ron appeared at the top of the stairs in, embarrasingly, Chudly Cannons pajamas. He rubbed his eyes blearily, quite unaware of the happenings. Ginny, in a white nightgown and as pale as a ghost, popped up behind him, eyes wide and nervous. Moments later, mr. Weasley, in a nightcap and flannels, showed up, leaning unsteadily on his wife. He wasn't quite awake yet.

"Shhh," the three boys hissed at the newcomers.

Noises came from outside.

"Blast it, Macnair, can we just attack now?" a rather whiny voice hissed.

A gruffer voice answered, infuriated. "Don't wake them, fool! We'll kill them when I say."

"Do they have anti-apparating wards up?" Mr. Weasley worried.

Bill, concentrating, pointed his wand at himself and murmured, "Aparatus," picturing himself appearing on the other side of the room. Nothing happened. "That's a 'yes'," he informed everyone, with a groan. They were trapped. None of them, not even his parents, were capable of a Portkey charm, and the Floo networks were practically shut down. However Moody had managed to send his brothers back home by it, it was practically a miracle.

"Brace yourself, everybody," George warned quietly. "Are they within the gate, Fred?"

"If we can hear their voices, they're probably right outside the front door," his brother confirmed. "Oh, if I die, tell Lee he can be your new twin and fellow entrepreneur."

George nodded solemnly. "Same here. You'll have to die his hair red, of course. Ready?"

"Born ready."

Clinking their wands together, they intoned quietly, "Locomotor."

A soft hissing sound was heard. Delightedly, George ran over and peered out the window.

Screams, the sound of burning flesh, and terrible cries of pain filled the house.

"Blimey!" said George, eyes wide. "There's at least a score out there! The big guy must really hate us, eh?"

"What was that?" Ginny asked, wincining at the volume of one continuous scream.

"Skiving Snackboxes, gas format, my dear," Fred said, bowing slightly. "That was our boil one. Bit of an overdose, maybe..." The scream fell suddenly, horribly short. "Ah, yes, certainly an overdose. Still, this scum deserve it. Oh, any second now our Nosebleed Nougats should start. And you should prepare yourself for vomiting sounds, as well." Suddenly losing his amusement, he turned to George. "We didn't prepare for a score."

His brother nodded. "Worst case scenario, our names join the list of the dead heroes of the Order. Don't forget, though, Podmore said backup will be on the way."

Bounds of curses suddenly started hitting the windows. The shielding spells recently placed on them, however, held quite well. The bounds of curses stopped when moans of pain and unpleasant sounds of squelching liquid were heard.

Bill pulled back the curtain and glanced outward, causing a new stream of curses to bombard them. He shuddered. "Remind me not to get on your bad sides. The Death Eaters who got hit by the gas have blood pouring out of every opening in their body. Eyes, ears, nose..." He flinched as powerful vomiting noises came. "As to the numbers, I'd guess closer to two score. Though, I'd say you've taken out at least ten."

"Taken out?" George said in a quiet voice.

"Dead," Bill said, equally quietly.

They gulped. "Well," Fred began, "it is war..."

Ron slowly had been coming awake. He pulled his wand out. "Anything I can do?"

"We're better off just holing up in here until the defenses wear down... which they will. We'll need you then, Ronniekins," George said affectionately.

"What're you doing, Dad?" Ginny asked her father, who had created a fresh fire in the fireplace.

"I'm trying to set up a Floo connection," he said, rather irritably. "Not working, though... We're best off heading to St. Mungo's, I think. They won't dare attack there, yet. And..." He left unsaid the likely hood of injury.

Fred ticked off the last Skiving gas, meanwhile. "That's the Fainting Fancies. Fireworks should be starting soon, right?"

No sooner had he spoken than an explosion burst outside. "Ah, there's the Filibusters now. Ours are better, naturally, but we're in the process of recreating them." A series of explosions followed swiftly. Apparently, the twins had buried the fireworks like mines, under the pretense of helping with the gardening. Brief shouts could be heard as several of the Death Eaters succumbed to a fiery death.

"This is the big show, now," Fred said eagerly.

Bill, once more, looked through the window. "One of the Death Eaters is doing a powerful curse breaking charm. Won't be long before the defense fails. Most of them look pretty young, but I'd say this one's-" An exceptionally powerful explosion rocked the area, almost shaking the house.

"That was our Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs!" Fred said delightedly. "I thought we used them all."

Ginny blushed. "I bought some, remember? I had a whole bunch of them stored in the shed. The Filibusters must have touched them off."

A look of slight suprise etched its way across George's face. "Oy, Fred..." he began. "If the shed just blew up, does that mean?"

Exchanging glances, they rushed to the window, then turned back with devilish grins.

Animal cries of fear could be heard now, and many of the Death Eaters attempted to flee. A gruff voice, likely Macnair's barked at them to get back. Suddenly, an echoing exploision, louder than the first followed.

"What's going on out there?" Mrs. Weasley asked, for the first time proud of her twins' inventions.

"Ah, the explosion would be them trying to stun our Whiz-Bangs. From the sound of the explosion, they may have tried to vanish them as well. We're brilliant. Oh, and them crying and wetting themselves- see for yourselves." Fred, carefully putting up an extra shield spell, drew back to reveal the scene.

Thick, flesh colored globs, dividing and creating more, chased the Death Eaters hungrily about the yard. Several were wrapped around necks, strangling the men and few women.

"Turns out very interesting things happen when you engorge an Extendable Ear," George said brightly.

A squishing sound and more screams followed.

"That's be our Portable Bog and Swamps activating," Fred added happily. Then the smile faded. "Unfortunately, that's the last of our supplies. Sorry, folks. We weren't anticipating an attack this soon."

"That Death Eater will have our wards down once he stops having to dodge the distractions," Bill warned. "Still, that was wonderful, guys. You cut their numbers in half, at least."

"They're after me, aren't they," Ron stated quietly.

"Don't flatter yourself," Ginny told him. "They want us all dead. If anything, they want to hurt Harry by hurting us. Not to mention Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie-"

"And us," George interjected.

"Are all in the Order," the girl finished.

Fred was ignoring them all, surveying the scene. "Bill, dragon hide deflects curses, right?" Without waiting for an answer, he summoned the coat rack over. Grabbing Bill's thick black coat, he shoved it on Ginny's slim shoulders. She protested, mildly.

"You're the youngest, you haven't lived as long as us," he told her. Curses were now streaming at the house in waves. Yanking the two green coats towards him, he eyed them critically. "A bit too soft for curse deflection on their own." Grabbing his brother's arms, he began to shove them one on top of the other onto a vehemently protesting Ron.

Ron, infuriated, began to shout the twins should take them. George pulled him away from Fred and shook him, hard. "You mad? He just said they're no good on their own. You're younger, anyway, you deserve a chance! We know more spells than you! And c'mon, what do you think would happen to Harry if you died right after Sirius? Don't be daft, he's the one that's going to have to kill Voldemort. You can't die, he'll go bonkers!"

Meanwhile, Fred was barking orders at the others. "Everyone on the stairs, we're forming a barricade! Better include the fireplace in with us, too," he said, glancing at the fireplace luckily situated near the stairs. "Any luck, Dad?"

His father shook his head, damning the Department of Magical Transportation under his breath and saying something about strangling Perkins, apparently for no good reason. Fred turned his attention to the barricade, yelling "Accio!" and calling for the kitchen table, arm chairs, grandfather clock, and all sorts of crazy items. Looking at the handles on the clock, he noticed all the hands excepting Charlie's and the charred mark where Percy's face had once been were pointing directly at 'Mortal Peril'. On second glance, Charlie's handle swung there too, then back again to Work. Dragons, he thought, shaking his head. His brother was bally mad. No more so than he was, of course.

Soon, they were relatively well protected. They made a sorry little bunch, half of them in their pajamas, all with flaming red hair. Bill sent up a prayer to whatever powers that be to let them all live, please, particularly since he'd really like to see the lovely Miss Delacour again. Nervously, he glanced at the cracking windows. The door pulsed bright white, and swung open. Men in dark robes pulled down over their faces streamed in at once.

Raising their wands, the family Weasley prepared for battle, to whatever end would come.


	7. Veterans

Remus winced as Jenny jarred the bike through yet another rapid turn. "Slow down, will you?" he yelled to her.

"Matter of life and death, remember?" she shouted back over the roaring wind.

"Any chance you can do anything about the turbulence?"

"What?"

"Never mind," he said, letting the wind toss his hair about. He didn't mind broomsticks, but this bloody machine was quite another matter. At least Hestia Jones had believed him, though Sturgis Podmore clearly believed he was off his rocker. It wasn't much farther to the Weasley house now...

They both gasped as the all too familiar glowing green skull rose in the air.

"Oh, good Godric," he heard Jenny say. She went even faster than before, if that was possible. His mind suddenly began playing out tons of scenarios. Just because the Dark Mark was up didn't mean they were dead. Surely, someone could have let it off prematurely. There were new recruits, of course, certainly one of them could be that foolish, if the older Slytherins he'd taught at school were any indication.

From above, the Weasley house appeared to be swarming with a small cluster of ants, many of which lay motionless on the ground in their dark robes. A few noticed the bike as it began to lower for a landing, shooting curses that ranged in the electrifying spectrum from purple to the deadly green. Skillfully, Jenny avoided them, darting the bright lights that suddenly filled the sky. Remus pulled his own wand out and sent the Impediment Jinx downward as they swooped to a landing.

Jumping off the bike, the familiar heat of battle came over him. This was a scenario they had faced many times before as young members of the Order. Flashing lights from within the house confirmed that at least a few of the Weasleys were alive and kicking. Most of the Death Eaters were occupied within or trying to get in, and they surveyed the two newcomers with suprise and disdain.

"Only two," one young ruffian sneered. Remus thought he recognized him; the boy's hood was down. He'd played Quidditch against Harry- a Bole, wasn't it.

The remark couldn't help but sting slightly. They were only two, the only two left of their entire year of Gryffindors excepting Pettigrew, and of the rest of the houses, Snape alone remained. Still, these fools who chose to align themselves with darkness would soon learn what they were capable of.

Casually, Lupin leaned against the garden wall. Immediately, a curse shot at him- Imperio, he supposed. A small, simple deflecting charm sent it straight into another Death Eater. Calmly, he waited.

If Remus was a picture of serenity, Jenny was a flurry of movement. Diving, ducking, rolling, not for nothing had she been the top duelist in their year. She'd improved since he'd last seen her, reflexes incredible. She tackled one about to curse her, punched one who got to close in the jaw, all the while spouting Stunning spells, and of course, her favorite, the Disarming spell. She caught one wand deftly in her hand, used it to apply Rictusempra on its owner, then snapped it in two. Slowly, she fought her way towards the Burrow.

Remus had never been a slouch at dueling himself. Calling, "Locomotor Mortis!" he stopped another oncomer in his tracks, then smoothly shielded himself from a poorly cast Killing Curse. He couldn't help but notice most of the gentleman he was fighting were slightly disfigured. Several had streaks of freshly dried blood on their faces, other enormous, apparently painful boils. Bits of something gooey and flesh-colored littered the ground, squirming slightly like a worm. Strangely enough, it reminded him of one of the Weasley twins' joke products. One or two men had vomit dripping down their chins. And was that a swamp over there?An unsavory bunch, to be sure. Everywhere, there were pit marks from apparent explosions, and several bodies littered the ground. He wasted no time on pity for them, recalling all the horrible scenes these and their ilk had caused. One ventured too close to him, obnoxiously leering and trying to scare him. Lupin lifted a fist and caught the brute with a punch to his glass jaw. The Death Eater, an expression of suprise on his face, crumpled to the ground like a sack of watermelons.

A young voice cried out indignantly. "My nobe! Da girl ebowed be in de nobe!"

"No girl," Jenny said absently as she applied the Choking Curse, which can under certain circumstances kill, to one of his fellows. Casually, she blade-kicked a man charging her, taking out his knee. "I'm a lady."

As teenagers, they would have been fighting people they knew, and such banter would have been common, as it was in the Department of Mysteries. Here, it struck Lupin as oddly funny. He began to work his way towards the house as swiftly as possible, chasing a few of Voldemort's followers off as he did so. There was less exchanges of light from within than there had been upon their arrival.

"Finite Incanatem!" he heard Jenny bellow, stopping Avada Kedavra halfway towards her. He looked about wildly. None of these idiots, surely, could have cast such a powerful spell...

A well-built man had stepped out of the doorway, seething at them. He looked quite dangerous with half of his thick mustache missing and his usually shiny bald head erupting with boils.  
"Oy, Macnair!" Jenny called out contemptously, waving her wand at him as if in greeting.

He looked puzzled for a moment, then his eyes narrowed and his lips formed the word 'you'. He stepped forward, infuriated. Remus had a clear shot at him and momentarily considered it, but watching the expression on Jenny's furious face, he decided to let her handle the infamous butcherer.

His eyes alighted on a face that looked outward for a moment, curiously. Dark hair, slighty receding from the hairline, framed the strong face. The pointy nose was unmistakeable, and Lupin would never forget the sneer of his lips, the bottom one slightly bloody and protuding from a recent hex. Hatred such as Remus hadn't felt in years boiled up in him, and the wolf rose up within him, as it did even on such nights when it was at bay.

Mulciber... who had murdered the McKinnons...particularly Marlene...

Remus abandoned his usual style of fighting, charging his way through the crowd with a vigor. Mulciber's eyes widened in recognition, and he sneered with pleasure. Suddenly, he spun around as someone cursed him from behind.

"The girl!" Mulciber yelled to one of his lackeys. "Get that silly little girl!"

Remus, though he saw red, managed to realize that meant that Ginny, at least, still lived.

Jenny bowed slighty to MacNair, deflecting a curse aimed at her back. She, at least, followed the rules of a proper duel.

Macnair pulled his hood down, grinned wickedly at her, and then rasped, "Another time, girl!"

Before she could register the statement, the anti-apparition wards were down, and he was away. His men stared in shock at the place where he had stood. Infuriated, she shoved her way through towards the house, cursing indiscriminatorily.

Remus, not far behind her, pushed his way through. She nearly stopped when she saw the expression of anger on his face. Swiveling, she caught sight of Mulciber lurking within the doorway. Well, if anyone could break Remus' calm, it was him.

She shoved someone out of her way, then knocked another down with the incredibly rudimentary Knock-About curse. "Flipendo!"

Finally, Jenny reached the doorway, and to her relief heard the hoarse voice of George Weasley attempting to stupefy Macnair. The door had long since been knocked down.

"Mulciber!" she yelled, grateful she'd gotten their first. Remus was likely to use an Unforgivable on the man to (possibly) regret it later.

"Your friend ran," she sneered at him, eyeing his followers contemptously. A breathless Lupin appeared behind her, once more under control. Mulciber gave him a vampire's toothy grin, and it took all the werewolf's self restraint not to lunge at him. Oh, if it had been a full moon tonight, he'd have torn the bastard's throat by now... But he was the man, not the beast, and there certainly was a difference he reminded herself.

"Playing with children, Mulciber?" she asked. Over a turned over table, George Weasley's head popped up, relief washing across his face. She began pacing slightly in the direction of their barricade, Mulciber turning to face her until she stood between him and the Weasley's.

"I can recall a time when we were the recruits," Jenny said, an unpleasant smile flickering across her face. "Though, certainly, we were not as pitiful as this lot."

A Death Eater, hardly older than the Weasley twins, moved to hex her, but with a slight movement Mulciber stayed his hand. "Philips, isn't it? Wormtail had told us you were dead... How nice to see it isn't true... I could hardly believe it, having been in Azkaban myself. Not far from your little boyfriend...Did you know he cried in his sleep? I suppose we all did, but his were quite pitiful...'James, forgive me! It's all my fault!'" he mimicked with a cackle. She stiffened. This was a test of wills, who would fire first... an old game, an old strategy, played what seemed like centuries ago. For whoever fired first tended to find themseleves in a disadvantage in a duel, it was a simple law. Defense always proved the better tactic than offense.

"And that great oaf friend of yours," he laughed, wickedly. "He spent a few months there, did you know that? You should have heard him blubber. He was under much less security than us, several floors down, and we could still hear him!" he remarked in faux amazement. Jenny's eyes flickered to Lupin, seeking confirmation. His nod told her more than a thousand years. The worst thing about Mulciber was that he did not lie. The man had learned ages ago that the truth cut worse than any number of lies.

"Don't bother trying to goad me, Mulciber," she said, her voice utterly calm. "After all, you yourself suffered Azkaban; it's mark remains upon you now," she laughed, studying his wizened features. "While you sat in a dank cell, I've been preparing for this day. So let we two old veterans play this game the way it was meant to, and see which one is better a decade and a half on," she challenged.

"Fire away, then," he offered. When she didn't move, he simply cackled and turned towards Lupin.

She stepped towards the barricade, hissing at George. "The wards are down, apparate out!"

"Can't," he said, strained. "I'm worn out, never manage it. Mum's hysterical, and Dad'll never leave us. Ron and Ginny don't even know how! And Fred and Bill, they're out of it." Painfully, he hesitated. "Neither of them look too good."

Meanwhile, Mulciber was taunting Lupin, who was fingering his wand unhappily.

"Hello, boy, I remember you. Killed Luther, didn't you? Ah, yes, you showed quite a penchant for the Killing Curse. A lot of anger in you, werewolf."

"Murderer," Remus hissed.

Mulciber laughed, and Lupin gripped his wand even tighter. "Yes, that pretty little girl. Feisty, wasn't she. Yes, I suppose I am a murderer, but that one did fight back. Came too late, didn't you?" He cruelly smiled.

Lupin gripped his wand, and would have cursed him had Jenny not at that moment grabbed his arm. She inclined her head slightly, and he calmed down. She held out three fingers so only he could see them, then put them down one by one. One...Two...Three...

Together, they leaped over the barricade, Remus throwing himself over it while Jenny did a delicate flip. That was new, too. Mulciber swore, and curses immediatly started bombarding the barricade once more. It was shielded well, clearly, although one of the Weasleys must have temporarily lowered the magic to allow them to enter.

Remus crashed right beside Arthur Weasley, who was bent low.

"Broken arm," Arthur informed him. "Broken wand, too."

Remus nodded, then looked about. Molly sobbed brokenly, clutching Bill, while Ron and Ginny perched right up against the furniture that formed their fort.

A determined looking George Weasley apparently had become the leader of their little band. Fred, out cold, breathed haggardly, cuts lining his torso. They'd removed his shirt in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

George and Jenny bent over the redhead, conversing. "Rem, set up the Floo to St. Mungo's. James' old trick, if you please."

Remus grinned absently at her as he rejuvenated the dying fire with a rapid, "Incendio!" Lifting the nearby pot of Floo powder, he tried to recall James' old, highly illegal habit of traveling by Floo, even to places the network didn't connect to.

"What spell is this?" George asked her worridly, ducking a bolt of purple fire that penetrated their shields.

"Slicing Spell, a derivation of the Severing Spell," she said, scrambling for something in the pocket of her robes with her free hand. She paused to shoot a curse over the side.

"Never- Stupefy- heard of it!" George said nervously.

"Old favorite of Severus Snape's at school," she said, her hand, paled by the lighting, unconsciously tracing her right cheek for some reason. "James was always getting cut up, I swear."

Ripping a lower part of her robe which brought the length halfway up her shin, she wrapped it about Fred's wound. Her other hand pulled out two dark potion vials from her pocket.

"What the hell is that?" Ron wondered, then stared at her. "Never mind that, who the hell are you?"

"A friend," she said shortly, and then continuing to speak to George, told him, "Blood Replenishing Potions. Give him one, it should restore any blood he's lost. I'll have to look at Bill, and he shouldn't need the other anyways."

George stared at her in wonderment. "And you just happen to have these with you?"

"I've carried two since I was sixteen," she answered, jaw tight as she fired a blast over the makeshift wall. "A friend died for lack of one."

He didn't ask questions, but bent over his brother, uncapping the lid of one. "C'mon, Fred old buddy, drink up. You don't really want Lee to take your place, do you? Who'll come up with all the good lines, mate? Who'll be there to get my back? C'mon, Fred, don't die on me now."

Ginny was fighting ferociously, using all the skills she'd picked up in Dumbledore's Army. "That's for Cedric Diggory!" she yelled as she stunned one. "That's for Harry's parents, and that's for Sirius Black!"

Jenny tapped her on the shoulder, causing the girl to spin around. "Try using Diffindo, the severing charm. Aim at limbs, anywhere, doesn't matter. It'll put the fear in them, trust me. You'll get a reaction."

Ginny didn't ask questions, simply nodded and turned back. "Diffindo!" she shouted, aiming at the arm of one of them. It hit, though it didn't entirely knock the arm off, though it clearly cut it terribly from the scream he gave. Mulciber, shocked, suddenly dropped his wand and for some reason clapped his hands over his ears, then recovered and started cursing again. However, several of the Death Eaters seemed disheartened by the exhibit of fear from their leader and backed away slightly. Ginny, impressed, continued casting the spell. Whoever this woman was, she knew what she was doing.

"Molly," Jenny said quietly. The red haired woman looked up, startled. Jenny gently pulled Molly's hands off her son. "I'm no healer, but I'll try to help him. You've just got to let go for a minute."

Shaking, she did so. "I-I-I'm pretty sure the bolt that hit him was green."

Jenny's insides froze. She checked. No pulse. That didn't mean anything in the wizarding world, though, so she tried to relax. "How sure?"

Molly sobbed slightly. "I'm not, just, I saw a flash of green out of the cornor of my eye, and then Bill fell..."

Bill had been such a jovial kid to baby-sit, and he looked like a nice young man. His eyes were closed, though, and he looked asleep, if anything. His face showed none of the usual features of those hit by the curse. Then again- neither had James, or the Prewetts. If he'd seen it coming and had no way to avoid it, it was possible he'd gone down the way many heroes did, determined not suprised.

Jenny choked out comforting words, accompanied by a reassuring smile. "My heartbeat stopped twice by the time I was his age, Molly, and I'm still here. Look, everyone heard I was dead, and yet here I stand. We won't know anything until we get to St. Mungo's, but try not to fret."

"It's ready," Remus called hoarsely, indicating a blaxing green fire.

Fred Weasley, briefly, opened his eyes. "Oh, good, I'm not dead then," he mumbled, causing his brother to practically weep in relief.

"You first, Molly," Jenny said calmly. "I'll bring Bill along."

"I could Apparate," Molly suggested. "Send the children first."

"Er, you sort of need the children to hold the Death Eaters off," Jenny explained, and Molly flushed, clearly embarrassed she hadn't been doing more. "Besides, you can't Apparate into St. Mungo's. Please go, Molly. I'll bring Bill, I'll see him there safely."

Molly nodded, then ducked and weaved over to the fireplace. "St. Mungo's!" she called, and disappeared with a flash.

"Oh, dear," said Jenny, sighing.

"What?" Arthur asked, rubbing his glasses.

"There's a Muggle church in France called St. Mungo's," she informed him, and his eyes widened in suprise. "Just make certain you say it's full name. Go next, Arthur. You're hurt, you're no use here. You're a great man and a valiant fighter, Arth-"

"You don't need to flatter me," he said calmly. "I can see when I can do no good. I'll have them prepare for Fred and Bill." He shuffled his way to it, anunciating clearly, "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!"

"They're escaping by Floo powder," Mulciber hissed. "Double your efforts. I'll kill that fool MacNair!"

"George, take Fred," Remus instructed. "Hold tight to him, now, if you lose him you may lose him forever."

"Yes, Moony, sir," George answered, beaming at him. "And may I add, sir, that you are brilliant, sir-"

"Enough with the sirs and get going!" Remus ordered. He looked at some stange device Jenny was clicking as George and his twin disappeared, having said the proper words.

"What's that?" he demanded.

"Molecule transfer," she told him. "Picked it up in Canada, it was an experimental procedure about two hundred years ago that never worked right. It'd kill a person. Anyway, I just used it to send my bike to St. Mungo's..." She paused, indignant, at the expression on his face. "Did you think I was just going to leave it here!? It may arrived scraped up a little, but its better than anything these fools will do to it!" She examined the strange little silver object. "Ah, it's a one time use, I guess."

Tossing it over the side, it hit a new recruit in the chest and detonated, killing him at once.

"Ron, you next," Lupin ordered. The green dragon hide jackets had clearly served the boy well, charred marks on the front showing it had clearly dissolved quite a few attacks. The expression on his face suggested he much wished Bill had been wearing one instead.

"Yes, Professor," Ron answered, glancing back. With a faint grin, he bellowed, "Expecto Patronum!" A mighty winged horse burst forth from his wand, neighing loudly, and charged down several Death Eaters, who yelled in dismay. They weren't dementors, obviously, but it set them off balance.

"Very good, Ron," Lupin applauded, delighted. "Quickly, now, we'll hold them back. Ginny, get ready to follow him." She yelled the Severing Spell one last time, then hustled after her brother into the flames.

"Jenny?" Remus offered, gesturing with his arms to the fireplace as he yelled the Impediment Jinx over his shoulder.

"You better show up right after me," Philips warned. Lifting Bill, a full grown man, with strain and earning a raised eyebrow from Lupin, she charge at the fireplace, calling, "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!" She vanished in a flash.

Lupin turned, facing the barricade. "Mulciber! You'll see me before the end. _Expelliarmus_!" His jet of red light caused an oof from someone on the other side. Casting 'Finite' into the fire, he dove into the pleasantly warm, tickling fire before it could close, repeating Jenny's words and finding himself pulled away from the battlefield of death and destruction. Passing by a group of chimneys, he hurtled safely towards St. Mungo's, the wolf receding deep within his soul.


	8. Art of Healing

Coughing and sputtering, Arthur Weasley stumbled from the fireplace, emerging straight into the visitor's tearoom. Immediately, two women in lime green robes were at his side, helping him to sit down. "Arthur Weasley, correct?" one of them said while the other summoned a splint out of the air and onto his arm. In disbelief, he stared at her. "How did you-" "Next two are here!" a man's voice called, lifting Fred out of George's grasp while the latter twin protested.

Arthur's eyes took in the room. The fireplace side of the tea room had been turned into a makeshift ward, with two beds. Nearly a score of Healers fluttered about anxiously as Fred was moved onto a bed.

The boy's eyes cracked open, blearily, focusing on the face of a woman helping him. He let out a start of alarm, nearly toppling the bed.

"Not exactly a delightful face to wake up to," George commented, nearing his father. The unfortunate woman did, indeed, have a face slightly resembling a dog.

Ginny rolled out of the fireplace, covered in soot, as Ron landed roughly on top of her. He rubbed his red head in surprise as Healers bodily lifted him up and out of the way. "Hell! How'd they know we were coming?"

Green flame rushed up in the fireplace, and Jenny landed cat-like, knees bent. She clutched Bill's wrist tightly. Her eyes flickered about warily as she was approached. Flicking her wand out, she aimed it at Bill, murmuring, "Windgardium Leviosa!" He drifted upward from the ground. Gesturing slightly, she sent him flying over to the empty bed. Healers walked up to her eagerly, ready to examine her, but she dodged them nimbly. "Just fine, thanks. Worry about him."

She sidled next to George, who had two pretty young trainees fussing over him and clearly was having trouble maintaining the 'heroic concerned look' which he let play across his features impressively.

He turned questioningly to her. "How'd they know we were coming?"

She shrugged. "Damn good question. Maybe my uncle had something to do with it."

George smiled at the blond girl checking his head for injuries, trying to politely push them off. "I suppose. Wouldn't put anything past Dumbledore. How does Bill look?"

Jenny darted a Healer insisting she be checked over. "I'll try and see ."

Bill's shirt had been removed so as to find the source of the injury. Healers gaped concernedly at his chest, perturbed. A hole half the size of a fist burned deeply into his skin at the breastbone. Charred flesh surrounded it, so burned it did not yet bleed. It went down about as far as the tip of a finger and looked quite bad. A tall witch with a hat embeled with the Healer symbol began continuously striking his heart with a spell resembling a minature lightning bolt.

At that moment, Remus came flying out of the fireplace, landing poorly. Jenny let out the breath she didn't even know she'd been holding. He stood, shaking dust off his already shabby robes.

"There you are, Lupin!" a Healer called jovially. "We'd been wondering where you went."

Remus, bewildered, stared about in surprise, then turned to his friend in disbelief. She held up her hands hopelessly, then indicated Bill. Moony's face darkened, and he pushed his way through several of the mediwitches.

"Never seen a curse like this before," one of them was muttering.

"It's the Killing Curse," Remus said loudly. "It's just been warped, or not done properly. Get phoenix tears, they can seal the wound." He had absolutely no talent at healing, but having dated one long ago, he had some notion of how it worked. And he certainly had seen many examples of nearly deadly wounds in his years with the Order.

"Out of phoenix tears," a man announced. "Been getting a lot of strange cases of boils, the tears are the only thing that make them go away."

George Weasley's eyes widened considerably, and he inched back guiltily.

Fred, half awake, meanwhile murmured comments about Bludgers and yelled for someone named Alicia to duck.

"Restorative Potions?" Jenny asked impatiently, shoving her way forward.

"Illegal in England, ma'am," the wizard told her.

She rolled her eyes in disbelief, turning to the uninjured twin. "George, go get a Restorative Potion."

The wizard started angrily at her. "Didn't you hear what I - youch!"

She stamped down on his foot- hard, not even bothering to look at him. "Any means necessary. Just find one." She reached into a pocket and drew out a small bag, which tinkled with gold. "Should cover it."

Gerorge caught it with ease as she tossed it lightly. Saluting, he ran out of the room and could be heard crashing into people on his way down the stairs.

"Do you have any Healers here who are, say, Class Four or Five?" Remus asked hopefully, referring to the ranking of natural healing ability.

"Class Fives are a myth," a mediwitch answered shrewdly, "and there haven't been Class Fours around here in years. I've heard there's one in-"

"Africa," Jenny completed. "I know him. Older chap, Quidditch obsessed. He won't come here, and Bill would be dead by the time he arrived anyways. There's a girl in Japan who might be Class Four when she comes of age, but she's only six years old. We'll have to rely on other methods." She eyed the rather young Healers with distaste. "Don't you have anyone with experience around here?"

The witch in the hat harrumphed, but she ignored her. One of the girls who'd been fawning over George answered. "They went to Scotland. Dementors attacked a village of Muggles near the Woods' house. A lot of damage was done."

Jenny swore, loudly. "Been gone for hours and won't be back, right?" she said bitterly.

"You're lucky we're here. We were all ready to leave," the girl continued, with a grateful smile at Lupin. He looked utterly confused.

"The bloke I know in Africa, he's quite powerful," Jenny said suddenly. "Some think he can evenm raise the dead, although he can't. But he explained his theories to me, of what pulls people back from near death. Before he tries to heal them, he gathers their family and loved ones around - all of them."

"Charlie's in Romania," Ron said promptly from behind them. "He's a brilliant flier, but he still wouldn't make it here till midday, at least. Good luck getting Percy. Frankly, there's no time." He looked worn and worried, and sounded as if he was channeling his friend Hermione from the way he was speaking.

Remus started at once, glancing about the room. "That's it.." he murmured. Whirling sharply about, he demanded, "Does Bill have a girlfriend?"

"No!" Ron said vehemently.

"Yes, he does," Ginny said calmly, and Ron turned in surprise. "He's dating a girl named Fleur Delacour. She works at Gringotts with him, and she just rented an apartment in London, a street down from the Leaky Cauldron."

Without another word, Remsu swooped out of the room, robes swishing behind him. He had the look of someone who had suddenly come to a startling revelation.

"There's something funny about this wound," a nurse commented. "As long as it's open, I don't think we'll manage to get a pulse."

Jenny's pale blue eyes darted suddenly to the window. Pushing her way through the makeshift ward, she headed over to the part that remained the tearoom as if in a trance. Suddenly hustling, she lifted the window, concealed on the outside so that visitors could look out but no one could look in.

To the surprise of all, she leaned out the window so far they felt sure she would fall out. "Fawkes!" she shouted. "Fawkes, please come! Fawkes! Faaaaawwwwwkes!"

"Gone mad," the Healer with the sore foot grumbled. Arthur Weasley looked starled as well. Did she actually think that would work?

"Oh, c'mon, Fawkes!" she shouted into the night, becoming tense now. "Fawkes!"

A glimmer of red caught her eye, but it was only the softly rising sun. A gentle rain had begun to fall, and little beads of the water caught on her eyelashes and face. "Fawkes!" She'd been crazy to even try it, of course. She hadn't attempted this since she was seven years old. Well, attempted it, but it hadn't worked since then, anyways.

A light separate from the dawn caused her to glance up, hopefully. A flicker of flame appeared, tendrils of smoke weaving around it. In a poof of bursting flame, the phoenix appeared, calling its haunting song.

She stepped aside, allowing the bird to swoop gracefully through the window. Graceful from its craning neck to elegant, crimson tail feathers that swished rhythmically, Fawkes indeed was a creature of majesty. His flaming orange red coat caught the eye of all. Even the witch attempting to save Bill froze. Fred Weasley sat up in bed, yelling wildly at Ginny.

"Get one of its tail feathers, Gin, we need them for our latest product! Don't just sit there. Listen, if you get just one bloody feather, we'll give you a lifetime supply of Weasley Wizard Whiz-Bangs! Ginny! C'mon, stock in the company! A position in the company!"

"You idiot, you want me to pull a feather off Dumbledore's bird? Who is here to save our brother?" Ginny said in disbelief.

Fred held his hands out, clasped above his wounded chest. "Pleeeaase?"

Fawkes, indignant at his words, squawed loudly and rudely. Flapping over to Bill's chest, he sat quietly on the young man's stomach, leaning his head towards just above the wound. Swift, slight little luminescent drops landed on the burnt hole, sparkling momentarily as they landed. Glistening, the black burn turned to soft, new pink flesh, and the embedment rose up to become one with his chest again, leaving nary a scar. The witch using the lightning spell stepped forward to make another attempt. Gently, Fawkes flapped off Bill's body and paused in the air, seeming to consider for a moment as he hung over Fred Weasley. With his sharp beak, he preened a feather off his tail and let it land on the bed. Eagerly, Fred leaned over to pick it up, wincing as he did so. The phoenix seemed almost to have a triumphant smile. He brushed against Jenny, giving her the admonishing looke a father would give a daughter coming in late from a date, and then vanished, wreathed in flame.

"Fred, you git!" Ginny said, clapping her hand to her forehead.

"What?" said Fred, looking offended.

"Fawkes would have healed you, but instead he gave you that stupid feather!"

The prankster swore several times in Gobledegook, then examined the feather. "Ah, worth it," he said, with a careless shrug. The shrug itself made him cringe as his wounds stung. Seriousness suddenly came over him. "Bill's fine now, right?"

His father, finally allowed to stand up, walked over to his son and quietly asked one of the mediwitches a question. She shook her head, a dark expression on her face.

George came pounding up the stairs, clasping a vial full of a dark, murky liquid. "Bought it off Mundungus. Got it from him for almost nothing, Jen," he said happily, tossing her the bag of coins back.

She suddenly looked horrified. "You didn't mention me, did you?"

He looked at her curiously. "Yeah, he said he sent his condolences. Condolences for Padfoot, I suppose? Right, but the price had nothing to do with you. I told him about Bill. He really took to Bill- helped him out of a spot of trouble, Bill did. How's- how's he doing?" George asked, face falling as he looked over to his older brother.

"Better, I think," Jenny said, unsure how much could be called better until his heart was beating again. "This'll help."

George nodded, gravely, and walked over to check on Fred.

Restorative Potions were dangerous, but since Bill was practically dead anyway, it couldn't do much harm. Still, she thought it unlikely he'd wake up without being effectively called back by his loved ones, and the scarce few assembled would hardly cut it.

A shattering of glass from a lower floor caused everyone to jump. A bellowing voice could soon be heard faintly, echoing upwards.

Fred cocked his ear to the left, looking faintly amazed and just overall looking faint. "That's Charlie's voice, isn't that?!"

"Possibly he's a lot faster than we thought he was," George said weakly.

Molly Weasley came rushing out of a corridor, tailed by a straggling Remus. She rushed to Bill's side at once, begging him to wake up and live.

Jenny and the twins looked back and forth, incredibly confused. Her eyes locked on Remus, who looked somehow different. His walk was slower, as if he'd been up for hours, and the circles under his eyes were darker than before. He looked strained, as if carrying a mighty burden. Yet something in his eyes suggested he was satisfied. He lifted something off of his neck, allowing her to see it.

Her eyes widened at the delicate hourglass. "A Time Turner!" Well was she acquainted with the rules of time- if you changed something in the past, it had already happened in your future was one of the first. Someone had alerted the Healers before they arrived- obviously, Lupin had done it just a few hours back.

He smiled wearily. "Another version of me should be just picking this up now from the Department of Mysteries. They're replenishing their stock and they'd owed us one after we defended it from the Death Eaters, you see. I went five hours back. I alerted Charlie Weasley immediatly. He assured me he could make the trip from Romania in five hours or less. From the sounds downstairs, I'd guess he accomplished it."

"You alerted the Healers to our imminent arrival, and prepared a way to pick up Molly Weasley when she popped up elsewhere," she said, pleased at her friend's brilliance. "I never would have put that together. You're still the smart one." He frowned slightly at that. He'd never enjoyed that designation.

Charlie, an odd broom in hand, came pelting up the stairs, ignoring the protesting Healers. "Bill!" he shouted, a fevered look in his eyes as he rushed to his older brother. He and Bill, only two years apart, had always been very close.

A worried looking girl with long white blonde hair was being escorted by several young males. "He iz here? You are sure?"

Commotion filled the room, pandemonium insuing. Looking at Remus for a cue, she realized he was far to worn out for anymore strenous life saving attempts. He hadn't slept at all for a night and a half, and the werewolf got precious little sleep as it was. Not to mention they'd just been through a battle, which always caused a great deal of exhaustion.

She held up her hands. "Calm down!" she shouted. "Healers, back off. Everybody else, listen to me, okay?"

George, probably guessing her plan, began to pull Fred's bed closer to Bill's with a painful screech.

"Molly, Charlie, stay where you are. Arthur, join them. Thank you. George, Fred, please save our eardrums a lot of pain and stay where you are. Ron, Ginny, stand around the bed, please. Um, you, the French girl, next to Charlie, alright?" Jenny said rapidly, directing them with swift hand motions. Charlie and Fleur, the new arrivals, looked worridly at Bill's prone form, Fleur letting out barely stifled sobs.

Remus beckoned slightly to somebody out of their view.

"I'm going to give him this potion," she said, almost sweetly, then flashed a menacing look at the Healers. "Among other things, it's going to shoot a lot of adrenaline through him." Confused looks turned to her. "Never mind. It's going to definitely start his heart again, but you'll have to call to him to stay with us, to maintain the heartbeat and get it steady. Anything to make him want to stay, alright? He should be able to hear you, though if he lives, he shouldn't remember it." The expressions on their faces indicated they didn't like the if. "This is pretty much a one- shot thing. If this fails, there's no hope. Whatsoever."

She sighed, deeply, then stepped forward. Opening Bill's mouth to an almost quizical 'O', Jenny indicated for Fleur to hold his nose. She poured the murky liquid in, hoping Mundungus hadn't screwed up and given George the wrong vial.

He hadn't. Bill suddenly began to jerk almost spasmodically, forcing Jenny and Charlie to grip him and hold him down. "This is normal!" she assured them, trying to force them to remain calm.

At Remus' signal, a lanky boy with red hair and new-looking horn rimmed glasses sidled into the room, joining the crowd around Bill. His eyes widened with an almost hungry look at the broom Charlie was holding, then peered in next to Ron.

Ron let out a gasp, unheard, then stared curiously at Percy's face- specifically, his nose.

Few others noticed, and Fred and George, who saw him, didn't give him a second glance.

"C'mon, Bill, you've got to pull through! You're not just my brother, you're my best mate. Don't give up on us now!"

"Bill, if you're not there to lecture us, just think of all the tourist rubbish we'll buy."

"Tacky clothes, Bill! We'll get more of the green jackets you were mortified by and wear them to your funeral!"

"You can't die, Bill, you're too important! The oldest Weasley brother! The cool one! Not like this, Bill! There's so much you still need to do, too much work left undone! Stay with us, Bill, please!"

"Don't die, Bill, please don't die. You never picked on me, always treated me just like I was another brother. Please, Bill, you promised you'd help me study for my O.W.L.s. We can't do it without you, Bill, please!"

"You're my oldest boy, Bill, my first born. Don't go, Bill, please don't go. A son shouldn't go to his grave before his father. Not this early, please, son..."

"Please, Bill, stay with me! You can grow your hair as long as you like, just do-oo-on't go-oh-oh-oh-hiccup! Please!"

"Don't die, Bill, pleaze! I rreally like you! Stay! I-I might even love you!" A string of initelligable French followed, as the girl's eyes dripped with tears. His mother's sob pierced above the cries of his mother.

One of the devices floating above Bill, looking like a minature pendulum, stopped moving at an incredible rate and slowed to a deliberate, rhythmic beat. His chest rose up and down strongly, his lips slightly parted as breath finally passed through them again.

Relieved, Fleur threw herself (gently) upon his neck, sobbing hard. Molly began to calm a bit, then let loose with a stream of relieved tears.

Percy slipped off, having called only the furtive, "Please, Bill" and "Don't go!"

Ron, confused, stared after him. He walked up to George as stealthily as possible. "Was that-"

"Wrong nose," George told him, as if that settled it. Ron nodded, but still looked bewildered.

"He'll be fine, right?" Fred asked Jenny, relievedly.

"Should be brilliant in a day or so," she confirmed, highly relieved. The incompetent Healers looked utterly amazed. Well, they'd sort of managed to help. Sort of.

"Good, then, I can be utterly jealous. Why don't I have a girl crying over me?" the other injured Weasley whined.

George waggled his eyebrows. "Should I call Angelina?" A pillow from Fred's bed hit him in the face. Indignant, he threw the pillow back, then started at the bright red feather Fred held up proudly. "Wicked! That what I think it is?"

"New broom, Charlie?" Ginny asked curiously, at the ebony broomstick with soft white bristles. Ron, excitedly, popped up behind her at the word 'broom'.

Happily, he lifted it for her to see. "Naw, borrowed it from my friend Proctor. You remember him, Ron, he came with the others to pick up Hagrid's Norbert. He's an American, but I got him into Quidditch, thank Merlin. I couldn't take all that Quodpot nonsense. This, my adorable siblings, is the latest broom on the market- the Nimbus corporation's answer to the Firebolt. The incredibly expensive Cumulonimbus 1000. Flies like a dream," he said, eyes growing misty. Suddenly, they cleared. He clutched the burnt green jackets Ron was wearing, and studied Ginny's black one. "Is that dragon hide?" The horror he felt was evident in his tone.

"Excellent work, Jenny," Remus told her.

"Same back at you!" she laughed, relieved. "Boy, do we need sleep!"

"I've never seen a Restorative Potion in work before. I'd had no idea what the effects were. But you always were good at Potions," he said, tension falling off him in waves.

Whispering, she bent towards him. "To tell you the truth- I've only heard mention of them before. I had no bloody idea what they were going to do. Made the whole thing up. Good guess on my part, huh?"

Remus suddenly felt weak at the knees. Pulling up a chair, he sat down heavily. "Right...good guess," he said weakly, rubbing at his eyes.

This time, they'd been lucky. Apparently, more lucky than even he'd guessed...


	9. Dead Heroes

The misty light of dawn streamed through the bright windows of St. Mungo's, sending streaks of orange and pink over the occupants of the highest floor. A sliver of sun had risen, peeking around a cloud and playing fanciful games with the sky.

Jenny absent-mindedly turned her tea into black coffee with a lazy flick of her wand. Bill had yet to awake, but the Healers assured her he was steadily improving. He'd been moved down to a bed in the Spell Damage ward, as had Arthur Weasley, and the French girl and Molly had dutifully followed them. Fred, on the other hand, had steadfastly refused to budge.

Remus' legs hung off the edge of one of the plush green couches provided in the tearoom. On the couch opposite it, the youngest boy- Ron, wasn't it?- leaned against the armrest, sound asleep. Ginny blearily rested her head on his shoulder, only occasionally opening her eyes to snap at the twins, who seemed to be causing numerous explosions.

George had managed to steal a decent amount of the rare magical supplies used by the Healers, and had brought them over to a wide-awake Fred, where they sat conspiring among themselves. Before their brother drifted off, they'd practically ripped their crumbling coats off him, scrambling into the many inner pockets for what appeared to be half-finished inventions. Last she'd looked, they were carefully shredding the phoenix feather. A cry of 'Eureka!' or something to the same effect rang out ever so often.

"Oy, Jenny!" George called suddenly, holding up something tiny in his hand. "Come over here, will you?"

Curious, she slipped from her seat, clutching her mug as if it were a lifeline. Her bright eyes studied the miniscule clear cube in his hand that looked as if it were made of plastic. "What is it?"

"Invisbility Ice," Fred pronounced.

George scowled, frown lines creasing his young face. "No, it's a Camouflage Cube."

She merely raised an eyebrow at them.

Fred explained, rapidly. "Our latest line of products is in development. Li'l Saboteur's Stealth Sack. We can't decide on the name for this one- first time we've argued over it, actually. We need a breaking vote, and Ginny's not conscious enough for us to use her. So, which is it?"

She shrugged. "Depends. How does it work?"

George demonstrated, popping it into his mouth. "We'f got to be caful noh to eah it," he said, words coming out awkwardly. The cube made a slight pop, and he suddenly vanished completely. "Boo!" he laughed, as a watching Healer shrieked.

"Invisibility Cloaks are rare," Fred explained, and Jenny smiled, thinking of James' old cloak. "We offer an alternative, at a more reasonable price. 'Course, they're only temporary. We have five minute ones to twenty minute ones, at varying prices. George just took a minute one, one of our test cubes." His brother suddenly reappeared with a startling fade from head to toe.

"They're not ice," he said, with a mock frown at Fred. "See, even you just called them cubes."

"But they're not camouflage, they cause invisibility. And we should have them start with the same letter," his twin added to Jen, exasperated. "It's more marketable."

She considered the matter seriously. "Sorry, George, I'll have to go with Invisibility Ice."

He took it with a good-natured grin. "No problem. I got to name the Transparency Tablets, anyway. They let you walk through walls. We're still having a bit of a problem with solidifying, though- my hand stayed transparent for a good twelve hours last time we tried."

"What else are you developing?" she asked curiously.

The boys began jabbering at once, indicating products as varied as Occulus Ointment, which dramatically improved vision, to Buoyant Balloon Berries, which allowed brief and unfortunately sporadic periods of flight.

"This is our latest," said Fred triumphantly, indicating tiny red dart heads no bigger than a fingernail. "Disapparating Darts. We're using the phoenix feather in these. We got the idea when we figured out how to Disapparate from Order headquarters, which has heavy wards. Not as heavy as here, of course, but we'll figure out how to manage it someday. I reckon we'll be able to manage Hogwarts when we're as old as Charlie. However, not every kid is us, so we're trying to provide an option for the less talented. And disappearing in flame just rocks."

Jenny laughed appreciatively. "Worthy of the Marauders, certainly. Speaking of Charlie, where is he?"

Fred and George snickered, loudly. "Off talking Quidditch with Tonks."

"Tonks is here?" she asked, surprised. They smirked, Fred answering for both of them. "Didn't you notice the tall red-haired boy come in-"

"Trying desperately not to be noticed-"

"Having obviously been imitating a picture-"

"Getting the completely wrong nose, enough to make even Ronniekins notice-"

"And noticing the broom, something Percy would never, ever do. Clearly, Moony decided the whole family was needed, and Percy can be quite the pain in the a- er, neck. Tonks filled in nicely," Fred finished.

George grinned wickedly. "You were talking to Remus while she kept popping her head into the room. Some Healer bothered her, so she turned her hair white, talking in an atrocious French accent and swearing up and down she was Miss Fleur's sister. The Healer checked with Charlie, who was of course utterly bewildered. Then she started chatting about his broom. She saw him play, as she was starting school when he was in his sixth year, I think. They went thataway, and have been talking ever since."

Jenny shook her head, somehow not surprised. "And you know all this how?" she prompted.

They held up small pieces of flesh colored string. "Extendable Ears."

"Bertha Jorkins would have murdered for a pair of those," Jenny chortled. Her expression became rather saddened as the thought of the recently murdered gossip brought up memories of old friends. "Hell, I don't even want to know what the Prewetts would have used them for."

George's expression suddenly became intrigued. "Hey, I've heard of them. Moody started shouting at us and Mundungus about them. And wasn't the old geezer saying something about them to Harry?"

Fred snapped his fingers. "Right before he got upset and left the party? Yeah, he started showing him a picture of the Order..We were listening in," he added for Jenny's benefit.

She sank into one of the chairs surrounding Fred's bed, which he was sitting erect on. "Let me see… Would it have gone something like, 'Gideon Prewett, that's him with his brother Fabian, they died like heroes'?"

George looked mildly surprised. "Quite close. Who were they?"

"Old friends," she said quietly. "A bit like you, actually. Not pranksters, though. Thieves, rogues, the most shameless flirts in Hogwarts.." Her pale lips turned up on one side, forming a lopsided smile. "Gid and Fab, they were the best."

George flopped down on the bed, falling right onto his brother's legs. He was promptly cuffed in retaliation. "Tell us about them," he urged, playing with one of the Invisbility Ice as he tossed it from hand to hand.

"It'd take hours," she murmured, reminiscing.

"A bit, then. So we know what they were like," Fred suggested, eyes firey with curiosity.

"Where do I start?" she smiled. She lightly chuffed herself on the head for her own foolishness. "Well, the beginning, I suppose."

""""""""""" """"""""

Rushing into the compartment, the boys stumbled over themselves, arms heavy with their precious loot. More Chocolate Frogs then they could ever eat, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands- every type of candy imaginable. From behind them, the indignant voice of the cart lady called after them to come back.

The slightly shorter one skidded to a stop, sliding slightly. He dropped a cake, but instantly had his foot beneath it. With a casual flip of his right shoe, he sent the package flying upward, and dipped his armful slightly to allow it to land on top. He winked at a gaggle of applauding sixth years, then rushed after his brother.

"Oy, Gid," his brother called, ducking his head toward an apparently empty compartment.

With a grin, he dashed forward, sliding into the seat without looking. To his surprise, he bumped right into a girl already occupying the seat, his booty of delicious delicacies spilling onto her lap.

"Watch it!" she said, shocked, as her friend, sitting across from her, burst into near hysterical laughter.

Gideon dipped his head to her as his brother sidled in across from him. "Sorry, milady. Hope you don't mind if we hide here for a moment."

"Stop! Thief!" a woman called, rushing by. The girl next to Gideon quickly threw her light coat over the immense pile of candy.

With a mere glance at them, she rushed by, hardly glancing at the boys, who were whistling with their arms folded angelically across their chests.

"Thanks, luvs," Fabian said, winking.

The girl who'd thrown their coat glared at them, her red hair swishing as she flashed her green eyes at them. "You're thieves!"

They glanced at each other, mildly concerned. "When it suits us," Fabian told them.

The other girl was scrutinizing them intensely. Her chestnut hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders, and her blue eyes seemed to indicate she was on the brink of laughing again. She watched them, carefully.

Fabian grinned at them, rackishly running a hand through his golden head of hair. He could be considered handsome, with deep dimples and a well defined chin. He had several handfuls of freckles sprinkled here and there across his nose and cheeks, which blended well with his pale brown eyes. He wasn't very tall for his age, which would be about fifteen, confirmed by the shiny silver prefect's badge on his black robes with blue triming.

Gideon had not yet grown to his full height, yet he already almost stood as high as his brother. He had many of the features of his older brother; their noses, lips, the shape of their faces was all the same. Yet something about him was quite unlike his older brother. He had a small sprinkling of freckles about his nose, and boyish good looks that Fabian did not quite attain. His eyes were the color of flint, but soft as opposed to hard. His hair looked the way Fabian's would if the elder were to rub dust in it several times over, a sandier shade. Something about him bespoke charm and wit, though he could not be more than thirteen.

The younger stuck out his hand to the girl opposite his brother. " 'Lo. I'm Gideon Prewett. And the git across from me is my brother, Fabian." The slightest trace of a Welsh accent could be heard in his tone.

She paused a second, as if the word came unfamiliar on her tongue. "Jenny. Jenny Philips. And this is Lily Evans," she added, indicating her scowling companion. The redhead looked at the pair admonishingly.

"You probably cost that woman a month's pay," she scolded. "And this train only runs twice a year, correct? Who knows what the poor woman has to do the rest of the year."

Their faces momentarily fell, then perked up slightly. "Eh, Dumbledore'll compensate her. Old goat can afford it."

Jenny giggled slightly, her hand going to her mouth.

Gideon liked her laugh. He always liked it when girls laughed. "I can make fun of him more, if you'd like," he suggested readily.

She smiled, a close-mouthed, half smile. "I don't think Uncle Albus would appreciate that."

The boys practically flew off their seats. "Uncle Albus!" Fabian yelped.

"Distant cousin, actually, but we're quite close," she said, emphasizing each word. Slight panic suddenly appeared on their features. "You're very lucky I'm no snitch."

They looked relieved, and swiftly leaped to another topic. "Speaking of snitches, do you play Quidditch?" Gideon inquired.

"Qui-what?" Lily questioned, looking at them as if they'd gone nuts.

Jenny translated. "Wizard sport, played on broomsticks. As important to us as football is to Muggles. Sure, I play a bit."

"Any good?" Fabian demanded, looking at her with sudden interest. "You're first years, right? How do you fancy Ravenclaw? What position do you prefer?"

Gideon held up a hand, causing his brother to calm down. "He's been appointed Quidditch captain. A bit overenthusiastic, in my opinion. Prefect to boot," he said, shaking his head in disgust at his brother. He procured some candy from the pile, tossing Lily a bag of Bertie Bott's Beans and Jenny a Chocolate Frog. "Watch those," he warned Evans, who gazed at the bag with mild curiosity. "They mean every flavor. Fab swears he got a turd flavored one once," he said, indicating his brother, who pulled a face at the memory.

"How'd you know what a turd tasted like?" said Lily politely. Gideon cracked up at once.

"For firsties, you two aren't bad," he said happily, watching Jenny open her frog. "Say, who'd you get?"

"Ravenclaw," she said delightedly. "Excellent, the founders are rare. If I'd gotten another Ethelred the Ever-ready I'd have screamed."

The boys jumped to her side at once, peering at the card. "Ravenclaw! No kidding!" Fabian remarked.

"Never gotten her before," Gabian said, fascinated by the picture of the medievally dressed woman with jet black hair. "We're descended directly from her, you know. Don't look much like her- oh, look, she's got our dimples!" He smiled back at the small picture, showing his own off. Both boys were quite aware of the extent of their looks.

"Who was she?" Lily remarked casually. "I've read quite a few books, but I haven't heard of her yet."

"Someone's been neglecting Hogwarts, A History," Gideon chuckled. "She co- founded Hogwarts, with three others. Leant her name to one of the four houses, too- the smart ones go to Ravenclaw. Don't you want to be one of the smart ones?" he pleaded charmingly.

"You seem very interested in getting us to go to Ravenclaw," Jenny said shrewdly. "What makes you think we'll even get sorted there?"

They shrugged at each other, winking almost imperceptibly. "Well, if you defeat the troll, then you get to choose where you go."

Lily turned deadly pale, while Jenny stifled another laugh.

Fabian turned to the latter. "You know, don't you?" he accused.

"About the Sorting Hat? Of course!" she laughed.

"A hat? Do we have to pull a rabbit out of it?" Lily wondered logically.

The boys looked at her blankly, while Jenny shook her head. "No, you just try a hat on and it decides where you should go."

"If you really think hard to go to Ravenclaw, you're likely to end up there," Fabian said eagerly. "We need new recruits for the team- bet I could even persuade Flitwick to let first years play. He's a recent addition to the staff; awful comprehension of the rules. Very useful. Frankly, Gid and I are the only good players on the team- doesn't stop us from winning the cup each year, though. Hufflepuff and Slytherin are decent, but Gryffindor's team is awful. Bell, though, he's got some skill. We may have to watch him," he mused.

"What position to you play?" Jenny inquired eagerly.

Gideon considered. "Well, last year was my first year playing, and I was Beater half the games and Chaser for the other two. This year I think I'm fancying Keeper. Fab had to play Seeker all last year. We're hoping to get a decent one; he prefers Beater, right?"

Fabian nodded. "Yeah, we switch about. No one tells us not to."

Jenny laughed appreciatively. "If you want a Seeker, you should go talk to James Potter."

Lily frowned. "Which one was he again? The one with glasses or the one with the book?"

"The glasses," Jenny assured her.

Her frown became deeper. "If I do end up in Ravenclaw, I hope he doesn't. Stupid prat."

"Potter won't be in Ravenclaw," Fabian retorted immediately. "Both his parents- and his grandparents- were Gryffindors. They're as much a part of the House of the Lion as the Weasleys, say, or the McKinnons."

"Old wizarding family," Gideon explained to Lily. "You'd be a Muggle-born, right? No telling where you'll end up." He tugged her hair, pulling a face, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"With Dumbledore as your relation, I'd guess you'd be a shoo-in for Gryffindor," Fabian said, making a sad face.

She considered. "Well, Mum was a Ravenclaw, but she's quite brainy."

"Don't have to be brainy, just clever," Gideon responded, tearing the tip of a Licorice Wand with his teeth. "Look at us, we got in."

"Yeah, and family doesn't tell anything. Andy- my girlfriend, that is-"

"Sometimes," Gideon interrupted, winking.

His brother glared at him. "As I was saying, Andromeda's family is as lousy as they come- you should meet her sisters!"

"Good looking, though, the lot of them," Gideon added, causing his brother to punch him in the arm.

"She'd be a Black?" Jenny asked, the name ringing a bell.

Lily paused. "Wasn't _that boy_ named Black?"

Jenny nodded.

Fabian considered. "That'd be her cousin, I reckon. Regulus or Sirius?"

"Sirius," Lily answered automatically.

"Ah, she likes that one," Fabian said sagely, nodding. "Maybe we should go recruit him. Andy thought he stood a chance of not ending up in Slytherin." He shuddered at the word, over dramatically.

At Lily's puzzled expression, Jenny explained, "It's the fourth house. Apparently, it produces a lot of Dark witches and wizards. End up there, and you're usually thought to be evil."

"And you don't think Potter won't go there?" her friend retorted immediatly.

"Nah, too reckless. Gryffindor for him- I'd stake my life on it!" Jenny laughed.

"Old bat's gone," Gideon said, glancing out of the corridor. "We're clear. Pleasure meeting you, keep the candy, and remember, think Ravenclaw!" He saluted them, then dashed out as abruptly as he'd entered, his brother on his heels.

Lily and Jenny simply watched after them in suprise for a moment, their laughter tinkling after the retreating duo.

"""""""""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" Gideon's scream ran throughout the household.

Fearing the worst, Fabian bolted up the stairs, wand out and face drawn. He roughly shoved the door open, his rough voice overpowering his sibling's shout. "We under attack? Where are they? What's-" He stopped short as he saw his brother backing into a corner, expression horrified, as he pointed an accusing finger towards an envelope on the ground. Disgusted, Fabian picked it up. "It's just your bloody Hogwarts letter!" he snapped.

Gideon's tremulous hand still gestured towards the floor.

Fabian bent down, scanning the ground. He picked it up, shaking his head in disbelief. "Flitwick must be off his rocker to make you a prefect!" He tossed the silver badge towards his brother.

Gideon made a gurgling noise in his throat, leaping away from it in deadly terror. "Don't let it near me! It'll taint me."

His brother snorted. "I've been a prefect for years now, and-"

"It makes me ashamed to be your brother," Gideon finished. "You aren't Head Boy, are you?" he asked worriedly.

Fabian, smirking triumphantly, held up his new badge, the light glinting off it.

Gideon, with a howl, dived for cover. He went down his knees, apparently entreating lightning to come strike his brother dead. Fabian kicked him lightly, causing him to fall flat on his chest.

"I should throw myself out the window," Gideon said miserably. "I'm a disgrace to my family."

"Mum'll be over the moon, actually," Fabian responded, but took pity on his clearly sorrowful brother. "You don't have to accept, I suppose."

Gid leaped to his feet with a flourish, elated. "I can send it back?"

"No one's ever tried before," Fab answered reluctantly.

Eagerly, his brother grabbed a roll of heavily smudged parchment and a half- spilled bottle of ink, grabbing the quill tucked absently behind his ear. He stooped to a small table, brushing numerous undone homework assignments off it. Fabian wondered what his brother's many ex-girlfriends (at fourteen, he'd already doubled Fabian's number of dumpees) would say if they could see Gideon's room. It had to be one of the largest disaster zones on the planet.

Gid scribbled furiously. "Dearest, respectful Flitwick, I sorrowfully inform you that I believe you have utterly gone out of your apparently medieval, and certainly diminutive mind. The foolhardiness of making me a prefect is indeed appalling. And you're a professor! Thus, I return this demented insignia of the perfect prefect to you, in the hopes you will give it to one less likely to have to give detention to himself," he read aloud. "Good so far?"

"Bit harsh on the little guy," the elder commented.

Gideon considered, then crumpled up the parchment and rewrote it. With a flourish, he wrote, 'Humbly yours, Gideon...' He paused, glancing up at the bemused face of his brother. "What's my middle name?"

"Don't have one," Fab told him calmly.

He frowned. "Everyone has one."

"None of the Blacks do, nor the Stebbins', nor-"

"Alright! I'll just borrow one, then."

Fab looked at his brother with dismay. "From who?"

He considered, then brightened. "I know! One of Jenny's-"

"She's certainly got plenty of extra names to spare, but they're all girl names," Fabian reminded him.

Gid scowled. "No, the first name of one of her friends. The funny ones, the Marauders."

"Gideon James? You must be joking," his brother chortled.

His frown deepening, the younger wrote 'Gideon Sirius' with a dip of the pen. "There!" he pronounced.

"You wrote Black," Fab laughed, pointing out the word. "You're a Prewett, you git."

Crumpling it up with real anger, Gideon rewrote it once more, ommiting the false middle name this time. Standing up to his full height, he rushed over to his owl cage, grabbing the swuacking bird by its neck. It hooted as he triumphantly tied the letter to it, rather lopsidedly. Opening the window, the bird darted out the window with an incredible speed, leaving a large portion of feathers behind. Dusting off his head, Gideon grinned, his lopsided twist of the mouth that caused his entire class of Ravenclaw girls to faint.

Fabian fell down on the floor, laughing madly.

"What!?" Gid demanded, indignant.

Hoarsely, Fabian attempted to choke something out. Finally, he regained control, pointing to the floor. "Forgot the prefect's badge."

Gabian turned so pale that his freckles practically leaped off his face. Snatching his broomstick and the badge, he leaped out the window, speeding off into the distance. "Apollo! Come back!"

Fabian related the story with such hilarity to everyone at Hogwarts, so much so that no single soul failed to point out to another Gideon's lack of the badge he deeply detested.

"""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""'

Alice sobbed on an uncomfortable Frank's shoulder, Marlene sitting next to her, patting her back uncertainly and looking fit to burst into tears herself.

Remus paced, as he would as the wolf, his eyes upset and deeply sad. Peter let out sad little whimpers from where he was curled up in an armchair. Lily, too deep in her pain to realize what she was doing, cried guiltily onto James Potter's shoulder, tears falling gently from her green orbs. The boy tried not to feel too pleased, feeling awful himself.

Jenny leaned against the arm of the couch, tears streaking silently down her cheeks. Sirius, not far from the couch, looked at her uncertainly, unsure what to do. He felt a pang deep within his chest- Callie had been a nice girl. She hadn't deserved to die so young. He felt even worse that he's hardly even known her.

Gideon Prewett, hair shorter than he'd ever worn it in his life, stormed into the room in a fury. He slammed his fist against the fireplace. He'd only graduated the year before, and yet he seemed ten years older than the casual rogue he'd been.

"Where's Fabian?" James asked, retaining his calm. Lily, at the sound of his voice, pulled back, almost recoiling. She stood quietly and joined her friend on the couch of the small room in the house of Mr. and Mrs. Figg. They hugged each other, sharing their pain.

Gideon's voice trembled. "Still talking with Dumbledore. He won't bloody let me in! He's been in on it a year now, and not a damned word to me! Not one damned word." The betrayal clearly stung him.

"In what?" Sirius asked curiously, and Jenny and Lily froze, exchanging furtive glances that the always clever James noticed.

Jenny changed the subject, asking something she hadn't wanted to know. "How many dead, Gid?" She walked up to him and touched his arm lightly.

He paused, eyes distant. "Eight. Mrs. Figg's only son, John- he was only twenty-six; four Muggles; a witch named Isabelle Doge; Milton Bones, an older gentleman, he's got three grown children; and little Callie Bell. Poor kid. Alex must be a wreck."

"Jeez, Alex," James murmured, hand going to his head. "What in the world will we say to him?"

"The Killing Curse?" Sirius wondered.

"All but Callie," Remus said bitterly, having witnessed a good percent of that part of the battle.

Lily's hands involuntarily went to her recently healed wound.

"At least we know where Snape learned the spell," James said darkly.

"Which?" Gideon asked with a start. "Avada Kedavra?"

"No, the Slicing Spell," Sirius answered in a hollow tone. "If I even heard him start _that_ spell, I'd wring his scrawny little neck, rip every hair out of his greasy head- on second thought, I wouldn't touch his head..."

"It's evil, that curse," Lily said, in a venemous tone she usually used only when discussing Potter. "Pure evil."

The spell Avada Kedavra differed in several ways from any other spell capable of killing, such as the Choking Curse. It offered its victim no real means of counteracting it. No means of revival would work; death was instantaneous and final. True, intense hatred was required to summon it, and the only way a person could survive it was a nearly miraculous turn of events. It left precious little hope.

"No one should ever use it," Fabian said, coming in from behind. His gaze met Gideon's, and a brief, intense moment passed between the two brothers, neither relenting. Fabian looked away first. Frank, gently leaning Alice against the armrest, went and joined the boys, one older and one his age.

James suddenly stood, a light catching in his hazel eyes. He seemed to be talking almost to the ceiling. "Let's not use it, then," he pronounced. "Whatever comes, let's vow never to sink to their level. If we start down that path, we may never come off it. Even if resorting to such means allows us to defeat Voldemort, something much worse would be left in his place- power does not relax its grip so readily."

"What if it means one of our lives?" Peter asked suddenly, a surprising question from him.

James paused, agonizing over the question. Gideon stepped forward, answering first. "Better to die for our principles," he boomed, not seeing Alastor Moody enter behind him, watching with interest out of his magical eye. "The Ministry may feel the end justifies any means, but I'm with Potter- we're better than that. I, for one, won't ever use that curse, no matter what the hell happens to me cause of it."

"Nor I!" called out James instantly.

"Nor I!" Frank repeated, followed instantly by Fabian.

"Nor I," said Lily, blinking at James in surprise through her tears.

"Me, too," Sirius said, abashed, as he jumped to his feet.

"And me!" Peter called at once.

Remus, under the other Marauder's expectant gaze, released his anger. "I vow it, too."

Marlene stood shyly, dark hair wildly swirling as if with a life of its own. "I, too."

"And me!" Alice shouted, face red from crying.

Jenny stepped forward, gulping and fully realizing the impact of the words. "And I."

Moody stepped forward, mildly impressed. His peg leg thudded against the floor as he stepped forward, causing the whole group to turn. "Albus seems to have picked the right bunch," he growled. "There's something he wants to speak to you about. Fabian spoke on your behalf, and Frank and Gideon have long been under consideration. That's why you were all asked here."

"Consideration?" Frank asked, confused.

Jenny's eyes suddenly lit up with an inner fire, and Lily gasped as she realized Moody's point.

His eye went around, examining them all. He frowned severely at Sirius. "You," he said, voice hoarse, "are to be the newest members of the Order of the Phoenix."

"""""""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""""

"Be careful," Jenny said, hugging Gideon and stepping back.

He grinned carelessly. "Eh, we'll be fine. Though, you got to admit, there isn't much point to life when Potter and Black have stolen the two best looking girls ever to grace Gryffindor."

"Watch it," said James warningly, wrapping an arm around Lily, who had just begun to show visible signs of her pregnancy. "That's my wife you're talking about." They'd been married nearly a year, yet he never missed an opportunity to remind everyone.

Sirius put his arm around Jenny's waist as well, cuffing Gideon lightly. The older boy, now really a man at twenty-one, ducked laughingly and mockingly stuck up his fists.

"Where's Moony and Wormtail?" Fabian inquired, having appropriated the boys' nicknames, though of the two only Gideon knew the meaning of more than Remus'.

"Elsewhere," Sirius said, trying to be casual. Things had been tense between them, though he brushed it off as nothing. After all, Remus had been taking the recent deaths, of Edgar Bones, the McKinnons, Dorcas Meadowes- particularly the McKinnons- quite hard. The werewolf deserved some slack, but it had been nearly a year, after all. He'd been acting oddly around Sirius, and Padfoot couldn't put his finger on the reason why.

"Don't worry about us," Gideon reassured them. Both Lily and Jenny looked quite worried, as were James and Sirius, though the men tried to hide it. The Prewetts' patrol tonight took them right into the belly of the beast, though they'd been through worse before. They hoped to capture a Death Eater to bring back to the Order, in order to obtain information. Dumbledore had yet to retain a successful spy, since both Caradoc Dearborn and Pelleon Patil had both ended up dead.

"We've been through worse," Fabian asserted, grinning. "Escaped by the skin of our teeth sixty-three times to date."

"Didn't know you kept count," Gid remarked, before turning back. "See? We're immortal, just like you two and your pals," he said, indicating the Marauders. He laughed. "Our names will go down in history. We'll be there till the end, mates. Oh, and Lily, remind Hestia we're still on for tomorrow night."

Fabian pulled a face. Following graduation, he'd had a bloody breakup with Andromeda. They'd always had an on-again, off-again relationship with Andromeda, but this time she meant it- she had wanted a commitment, and he hadn't. She was married to a nice guy named Ted and had a little girl now (although the name she had given the poor child made him less regretful he hadn't married her). But that was water under the bridge. Still, his social calendar was hardly as full as his brothers', and he had no message to send.

Gideon sprang for the door. "Cheerio, everyone!"

Jenny blew her old friends a kiss, causing Sirius to scowl at her good-naturedly. Gideon mimed catching it, winked and smiled lopsidedly before he darted off into the night.

Things were deadly quiet until they reached a tiny, dusky Muggle village that had apparently been emptied of inhabitants. Either they had run off, or... Word that Voldemort had been holding meetings in these parts had come from Caradoc shortly before his untimely death. The Prewetts hadn't been expecting things this quiet, and stiffened as they heard a noise behind them.

"Trap," gulped Fab. "I'm pretty sure they're all around us."

"Somebody tipped them off," Gideon hissed. He whipped a mirror out of his pocket. "James Potter," he whispered. Rustling came from hedges around them, and dark shapes began to flood about them. It was hard to distinguish dementor from Death Eater, and there were plenty of both to go around.

James' face swam into focus. His eyes widened behind his glasses when he saw the caller. "Gideon?"

"Trap, James, we got ourselves a spy!" he shouted, having called one of the few people he was utterly assured of, who he knew was an even more competent leader than himself. Only a handful of people had known of the operation, but he didn't have time for a chat. Before the Death Eaters could come closer, he threw the mirror to the ground, shattering, then sent the pieces flying away from each other with a Banishing Charm so it could never be repaired. Fabian did the same. Voldemort could never get his hands on the Order's means of secure communication.

A tall, fair haired man stepped forward, sneering cruelly as he dropped his hood. Dolohov. Gideon recognized others, as well- his old classmate Mulciber, Rabastan Lestrange, his brothers Rodolphus and Randall, countless unknown others, three score dementors -quite a crowd had come to kill them, or likely preferably capture them. Gideon felt glad they were considered such threats. He knew in that moment he would go down fighting, that the line of Ravenckaw would die here with them.

"Hey, Fab," he whispered, full of false bravado. "How many times have we escaped so far?"

"Sixty-three," said his brother, knuckles so tight on his wand they were a ghostly white.

"Care to make it sixty-four?" Gideon asked, grinning roguishly. An identical lopsided smile appeared on Fabian's mug.

Raising their wands, they called as one, "Expecto Patronum!" A golden eagle and a peregrine falcon rushed out, silvery white as they bowled Death Eaters over in their hurry to knock dementors down.

A wave of dark shapes incircled them, Dolohov yelling orders in Russian to kill them. Gideon punched a young Russian boy named Karkaroff in the nose when he stepped too close, permanently damaging it.

"Reducto!"

"Imperio!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Crucio!"

"Protego!"

The thought of using an Unforgivable never even entered their minds as they dodged the deadly bolts shot at them.

"Avada Ked-" Mulciber began, but Fabian Silenced him swiftly, and the curse never left his lips. The Prewetts had been two of the best, the pride of the Ravenclaw house. They intended to go out like the best. Fabian hit a Death Eater with his mask on with a poxing spell; whoever he was, his face would never be the same.

"Colloportus!" Gideon shouted, dodging a dangerous spell of purple flame Dolohov shouted in Russian. Annoyed, the big man switched to English.

"Crucio!" the Russian shouted, and it hit Fabian. He twitched once, clearly in pain, before he threw it off, laughing gaily.

Gideon was seriously pissed off by now. "Diffindo!" he shouted, and a Death Eater crumpled as his legs suddenly were severed from his body. The crowd backed up a bit, and the brothers grinned wildly.

After several missed shots of the Severing Spell, Gideon hit his target.

Dolohov wailed, clutching his head, suddenly missing his right ear. Mulciber backed up slightly. He was quite vain, and did not want to see his looks marred.

The Russian regained his senses, barking commands. The dementors regained ground, and the brothers had to recast their Patronuses before a sweeping cold overcame them. The Death Eaters seemed endless as they swarmed in upon them. Briefly, they clasped hands to put up a more powerful shielding spell, high-fiving in a wordless farewell.

They sucumbed slowly, taking down ten times their own number with each passing moment, fighting to their last breath. Drenched in blood, their own and others, they still grinned and laughed to the last.

Fabian tired first. He was too slow to dodge Dolohov's shot. "Avada Kedavra!"

Gideon had his older brother torn away from him in a flash. With a roar, he doubled his efforts, piling up the bodies around him yet never resorting to the curses he had long ago foresworn. He fought madly, as ten enormous men held him down, dementors approaching.

"Wait!" Dolohov said, stopping them. Gideon spat in his face, wand in hand, cursing those about him.

"I could capture you now," the man said softly.

"I'll take my own life first," Gideon roared, striving, striving for freedom.

"You fought bravely. You have honor." The man paused, impressed, as Gideon severed the head of one of his men. For a big man, he nimbly dodged the curses coming his way. "It seems I do, as well."

Gideon, fighting madly, held down, was taken by Dolohov's killing curse.

He fell limply beside his brother, flinty eyes wide and still determined, identical grins still on their handsome faces. They joined the ranks of dead heroes, ceasing to exist and becoming nothing more than flesh, bone, and memory.


	10. The Longbottoms

"When the Prewetts fell, it was the end of an era. We'd been convinced we were unbeatable, that those who died were somehow not as good enough, not as fast enough. Our little circle, of the young group that joined the Order, we'd seemed invulnerable. We could survive anything, do anything. We had this little protective bubble around us, and even when those outside the bubble, or close to the bubble, were taken, they weren't us. And then suddenly the boys were gone, puncturing the bubble and bringing in all sorts of fear. If Gid and Fab could be taken, why not Sirius, or even James? What about those who weren't as good as them to begin with?" She sighed heavily. "After their deaths, it really became war for us. Not that it wasn't before.. But it just seemed safer when they were around. And after all that, everyone who died, it's happening all over again."

"Uh, quick question," said Fred, looking nervous. "When were we born?"

"What?" Jenny and his brother chorused.

"Well, it's just...Fred and George, Fabian and Gideon, good-looking troublemakers?'

His brother rolled his eyes and socked him. "Weren't you listening to anything she said? They didn't even like pranks! Reincarnation's bollocks, Fred, don't be a git!"

"You would have been born well over a year before they died, anyway," Jenny scoffed, laughing wildly. "You're much more like Sirius and James- Gideon and Fabian found pranks to be beneath them. They preferred more illegal mischief. Ask Mundungus Fletcher- he lost half his business after they were killed."

"And I'm older, besides," George finished, settling it.

"A minute and a half!" Fred protested, forgetting his earlier mention.

Jenny watched them, her amusement fading. These boys were much like the friends of her youth, which is probably why she'd taken to them so quickly. If their fate was to be anything like that of her friends..no, that would not happen. She'd die before she'd let that happen. She only hoped she wouldn't regret helping them bribe their way into the Order.

"Miss?" said an approaching Healer trembling in fear of the object before her. Jenny started. The woman was holding her leather jacket out as if it were a baby basilisk. "Is this yours? It arrived with a motorcycle contraption up front.."

"Yeah, it's mine," Jenny affirmed, waving her hand dismissively.

"It was making noises," the woman said with a shudder. "And it's made of some awful material. I thought it was dragon skin, but it has a different feel about it." Shuddering, she dropped it on Remus' sleeping head. Eyes creaking open, he grabbed it and stuck it under his head as a makeshift pillow, then promptly dropped off again. Jenny smiled slightly. When Remus was sleeping, heaven help any who attempted to wake him. The poor werewolf needed his rest, anyways.

"Noises, huh?" she said, trying not to mock her. "Well, I'll be sure to look into that later. Now, the bike, did it seem to be in good condition? Was it scratched? Was-"

"It looked all right," the Healer said hesitantly, eyes avoiding Jenny's. Noticing this, Jenny started with worry and bolted to the lower floor of St. Mungo's, where she'd sent her beloved bike.

"And that's why mum says not to get too attached to possessions," Fred said pointedly, tossing a Transparency Tablet into his mouth. "Okay, here's hoping I don't go through the floor this time."

"Oy, Fred," said George quietly, as his brother attempted to reach his arm through the bed post. "Her friends, what happened to them. The Marauders, the Prewetts.what if that happens-"

"Won't happen to us," said Fred matter-of-factly, suddenly falling right through the bed and sighing with relief when he didn't slip through the floor.

"Why not?" said George glumly, poking the Disapparating Dart with his wand. It disappeared in a poof of fire, then reappeared a moment later, spent. "What do we have that they don't?"

"They," said Fred passionately, as he stumbled to an erect position, "were not twins."

Jenny scrutinized her bike carefully, wincing at the mirror that had fallen off and the clearly smashed speedometer. She repaired it delicately with a flick off her wand and a gentle, "Reparo!" The motorcycle found itself back in it shined state of perfect condition as she proceeded to clean the mud from the bottom. Paying rent for parking, she walked back in, whistling the theme from Indiana Jones.

By now, it was half past noon, and the sun smiled down on her for the brief second she enjoyed fresh air. The waiting room was bustling, and voices could be heard complaining.

"Look, I can't stop- Ugggg- throwing up! My brother force fed me something!"

"My mother cursed me and now my ears won't stop wiggling!"

"Please, can you help our house-elf? Our toddler didn't mean to, but he seems to have done something to her nose."

The last was interesting enough to cause Jenny to turn and look. A gurgling baby was making little laughing noises as a clearly distraught mother with extremely tired features and disheveled hair balanced him on her hip. He was trying to indicate a pale purple house elf, whose round nose had blown up to over the size of its head. Clearly, she was having trouble standing upright, as her nose kept threatening to send her falling flat on her face. The father had laughter in his eyes and equally mussy hair, as he seemed to survey the seen with amusement. "That's my boy," the young dad said under his breath, but loud enough for his wife to turn with a scolding smile and a passing woman with chestnut locks to overhear. Jenny felt a pang in her heart, and had to pick up the pace.

"No, Mr. Lockhart, you've got to come back," a nurse scolded as a man about Jenny's age surrounded by women walked by. The women seemed practically to be dragging him along, and the man had a oblivious smile on his face.

"But my fan club's here," he protested mildly, turning to one of the women. "What are you fans of mine for again?"

Jenny approached, the name wringing in her ears. The man turned to her with his goofy, beaming smile. "Hello. Are you here for my autograph, too? I keep signed copies with me."

Her frown even unnerved the giggling crowd enveloping him. "Gilderoy Lockhart?"

He looked puzzled, then looked at the nurse. "That's me, isn't it?"

Her hands were pulling the collar of his throat before he could utter another word. "Bastard," she breathed. "Eberlee, five years ago. Where you supposedly bested the vampire legions. Do you have any idea what you did to Mary Heckel? She lost the memory of her brother, the love of her life- how the hell could you make a career of that? And insulting her harelip- that's just cruel!"

"Sorry," he said puzzeldly. "What exactly am I being sorry for, again?"

She stared at him, releasing the neck of his robes. Her eyes jerked to the nurse. "He a patient?" she asked, shocked, as she jerked her thumb towards him.

"Yes, of our permanent ward," said the bewildered nurse, taking the opportunity to yank Gilderoy away from his fan club.

Her head jerked oddly. "Tortured?"

"No, a Memory Charm backfired," the nurse said calmly, as she led the man away from his pleading fans.

"Somebody beat me to it, then," she said under her breath. "Pity. I'd have liked to do it myself."

"Pardon?" the Healer questioned.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing. Ah, I was wondering, are Alice and Frank Longbottom still in that ward?"

The woman sadly smiled. "Yes. Are you a friend of theirs?"

"I was," she said simply, following her up the stairs. Some friend, her conscience said. Haven't been to visit them in fourteen years. She shook her head as if she could send the thought away. She'd done all she could. Nothing left could help them. She'd spent a portion of time investigating all avenues of that.

Jenny's piercing eyes took in the dingy room, noticing the places where someone had clearly attempted to brighten it up with flowers and a picture. But the light itself seemed darker here, and a weighty sadness hung in the air. She even allowed herself to feel sorry for Lockhart, having to live here.

"Right that-" the woman began.

"I know where they are," the witch responded quietly, heading towards a curtained off area. She had, after all, been the one to bring them here, having rushed over to the Longbottoms' house early in the morning hoping to work on the appeal for Sirius' trial Frank had agreed to help her with. Instead, she'd found.. She shuddered, brushing away the memory. They'd been ranting, out of their minds at the time. She's never forget it.

Stepping in, she turned to the sad, diminutive figures, one on the bed looking half dead and the other wandering aimlessly around the area. "Hello, Alice, Frank," she choked out, a sob rising in her chest. Neither turned to look at her or showed any sign of recognition, reminding her of the many things worse than death.

Jenny slowly walked up to the pacing woman, catching her hand gently. Alice, her once blond hair now a halo of pure white, whimpered like a child and looked at the other woman dully, none of the laughing life in her eyes. Her face was drawn and worn, brown eyes faded and blank, and all her pretty plumpness had gone, leaving her a frail skeleton. She reminded Jenny of a undernourished bird, hunching slightly and tilting her head. She chewed a piece of bubble gum at a regular, steady rate, and clutched a pile of wrappers tightly in her hand. A wave of sorrow washed over the other woman. As a girl, Alice had chewed gum often, getting scolded in classes, the only offense she ever committed to earn the only detention she'd ever gotten. She'd quit it as she grew older, deeming it a bad habit and too immature, only rarely enjoying a piece. As always, she'd stuck to her word, and completely outgrown it. That, certainly, was not something she could control anymore. Jenny couldn't help but cry out slightly. Alice could have passed for her mother.

"Oh, Ally," she cried, using Marlene's childhood nickname for Alice Anderson. "It's me, Jenny. Do you remember me?"

The other woman looked at her blankly. Her hand felt childlike and wispy in Jenny's hand.

"We went to school together," Jenny babbled, coming close to tears. "With Marlene, and Callie, and Lily? Remember? And the stupid loveable gits who used to call themselves Marauders? We fought against the Death Eaters together, Alice." She paused, looking into the woman's deadened eyes. Last she'd seen her, she'd been whimpering, and screaming, names Jenny knew and recognized, things that could be deemed semi-rational, although clearly insane. This odd silence unnerved her. Seeing an old friend like this was worse than anything she'd encountered on all her escapades. She couldn't have beared to see Sirius if Azkaban had made him anything like Alice and Frank were, although it sounded as if he'd managed pretty well.

Glancing between Alice and Frank, she wondered if they even recognized each other, if the people they had been were utterly gone or if they were still buried in their somewhere, unable to answer.

Alice pulled away, walking over to a window and absently plucking the petals off a potted flower.

Frank made a slight, almost grunting noise, and Jenny whirled at him. Wrinkles lined his features, and although it was hard to tell with him lying down, his great height looked to have crumpled. His waves of brown hair had become white and slightly thinning, his face terribly long and thin. All his youthful, boyish looks had faded into the features of a much older man. He'd resisted the longest, Frank, hadn't really begun to snap until Lestrange and her cronies began to torture his wife. When she'd found him, he'd been raving, which had terrified her. Frank had been a very private, quiet man, an older boy who had a sweet shyness about him. He'd been the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, nothing incredibly unusual about him but his sweetness and strength of character. He'd been a Gryffindor, through and through, Frank. How couldn't he be, with that old battle ax of a mother?

"Do you remember, Frank?" she asked him quietly. "Anything at all? Gideon Prewett, he was one of your best friends? Robert Johnson? Sturgis Podmore, any of them?"

His dull eyes, once so keen, blinked wearily at her, perplexed. He tilted his head slightly in her direction and wrinkled his brow. Well, at least he seemed less mad than poor Alice. Frank had always been rather silent, contrary to his talkative wife, and it seemed less unnerving somehow.

She gestured towards Alice. "Your wife, Frank, do you recognize her?" Nothing changed in his features, and she took that as a probable no. Sighing, Jenny slipped into a chair by the bed. "You were a hero, Frank, you really were. Neither of you deserved this. You should have been allowed to go out in a blaze like good old Gideon. Not like this.. They caught you sleeping, Frank, do you remember that? They never even gave you a chance. Jeez, you two would've taught Bellatrix something, if you'd gotten to your wands."

"Who are you?" a voice came from behind her, both suspicious and curious. She jumped about three feet out of her chair, toppling it over.

"Bloody hell," she breathed, then grinned. "Scared me. Boy, would my mates love to see that. I'm usually pretty unflappable." The smile faded slightly as she faced the source of the voice, a young boy clutching a vase of flowers. He was slightly pudgy, with a round face, a sharp nose that looked recently healed, and big brown eyes. He had a look of stubborn determination mingled with curiosity on his face. Alice's face.

"You're Neville!" she said, surprised to run into to him and more shocked she was able to recognize him, having only seen him a few times as a child.

His features turned upward slightly, wary yet curious. He seemed about to speak when a woman Jen recognized stormed in, wearing a large vulture hat that had been quite fashionable back in Jenny's mother's day.

Her sharply defined features and silvery hair poked out from under the hat's shadow. Her eyes, the same as Frank's, scanned Jenny's face.

"I know you," Neville's grandmother said cautiously as her gaze trailed Jenny's face, memorizing each line. The younger woman vaguely remembered Alice complaining that her mother-in-law never forgot anything she did wrong, as she had a photographic memory.

"Guineviere Philips?" Jenny offered tentatively. "I-I was a school chum of Alice's." Neville's eyes widened, and he turned to his grandmother for confirmation.

Mrs. Longbottom smiled warmly, breaking her usual frosty demeanor. She stepped forward, extending one gloved hand. "Yes, Guineviere. Juliet Philips' daughter, correct?"

Jenny nodded, shaking the woman's stiff hand.

"You were the one who went after the attackers, weren't you?" the other woman said in sudden memory, glancing at the two pitiful figures behind them.

"Yes, ma'am," Jenny said calmly, ignoring Neville's startled gasp.

"Always with the Evans girl, correct?" the woman said, scrutinizing her. "I believe I'd heard you were dead. It seems the report was greatly exaggerated. What brought you by to visit my son and his wife?"

"I'm here with the Weasleys," she responded, "and I wanted to take the time to stop by and pay my respects to them."

"The Weasleys?" Mrs. Longbottom said, frowning slightly. "Did something happen?"

Jenny's eyebrows shot up. "You haven't heard? They were attacked this morning, along with the Woods."

"Any casualties?" Mrs. Longbottom said, her lips pursing into the concerned look she'd worn constantly during the first war.

"They got Elizabeth Wood, and I heard her husband's been.injured. Two of the Weasley brothers were hurt as well, but they'll be all right," Jenny said tactfully, trying to avoid mention that Elliot Wood had been tortured.

"Which Weasley brothers?" said Neville worridly.

"Fred and Bill, though Bill's much worse off."

"Ron's okay? And Ginny?"

Jenny nodded immediately, surveying the boy. He'd taken far more after Alice than Frank, just in appearances, but his temperament didn't seem like either of them. Alice would be babbling a mile a minute by now, and Frank would have stormed out without asking to find out the condition of his friend.

Mrs. Longbottom paused, glancing between her son and grandson. "I'll have to make a call to Maura Stebbins. How devastating, to lose her second child. Wait here, Neville, I'll be back shortly." She floated out, her dress trailing on the floor as she hustled outward.

Neville sat in a chair, face tired as he set the flowers on a tiny night table designed to hold magazines. "She'll be a while. Gran spends a long time when she makes a fire call."

Jenny sidled in across from him, watching him intently. "A boy I knew had a theory that was a girl thing. Guys seem to make it much more brief."

He watched her with more than mild interest. "You knew my mum? I mean, you don't look-" He flushed red, glancing between his mother and her.

"We were in the same year, and both in Gryffindor," she answered. "We weren't very close, but we got on well enough."

He looked glumly over at his parents. "Gran says my dad was a model son. She's embarrassed I'm not more like him." He scuffed his feet on the floor. "I'm a terrible wizard. Practically a Squib," he said contemptuously, glaring at the vase. It shattered magically, and he jumped.

"Sure," she drawled in response. Perhaps that was once true, but she doubted it was anymore.

"I won't get expelled for that, will I?" Neville said nervously, staring at the broken shards.

"Nah, the Ministry's got bigger fish to fry. Ron and Ginny had to use all kinds of magic to defend themselves last night, and they haven't so much as gotten an owl yet. I'd bet my life Amelia Bones is trying to put the rule on an emergency hiatus. It's what they did during the last crisis," she explained, rolling her eyes. "Bloody stupid rule, if you ask me. If I'd followed it, I'd be dead about ten times over. 'Course, we had a bit of trouble drilling that into Frank's head. 'But it's illegal!' Honestly," she laughed. Neville gaped at her. He'd never heard anyone mention his parents that way.

"Frank was a pretty good guy," she mused, winking. "But by no means perfect. Nobody really is. He was a brilliant Auror, very trustworthy, and er, stout of heart. He could be a bit thick sometimes when it came to breaking the rules- your gran had him wired pretty well for his first few years, according to an old pal of mine. A few Ravenclaws cured him of that pretty quick- and so did your mum. She had him sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest with her by his last year. Not that he could ever resist her! Alice was great, extremely outgoing, always happy." Almost unnoticeably, her eyes trailed the woman across the room, and she realized they were still alive, although she spoke of them in the past tense. Jenny paused. The girl Alice had been was long gone.

"They were smart, though," said Neville, eyes suddenly looking more hopeful.

She chortled. "Which subject?" At his startled expression, she assured him, "Oh, we were all awful at something- my personal peeve was Herbology." She twiddled her thumbs with a mock sigh. "Everything I touched died!"

"I'm good at Herbology," he informed her shyly.

"Alice was decent at it, too," she mused, "though Frank was horrid, worse than me, which is really saying something. And hell, you should have seen him with Potions! He wasn't in my year, of course, but Alice used to tutor him in those two, and he'd help her with History of Magic and DADA. It's how they got to know each other. One time, he managed to blow up a couch in the Gryffindor common room with a sleeping potion! He was horrified, of course- even more humiliated when a quartet of boys in my year borrowed his 'formula' and spent a good month blowing everything up."

"My dad was bad at Potions?"

"Terrible."

"Sounds like me," Neville said wryly, looking rather tickled with pleasure at the fact that he shared a vice with his father. He'd need many more fingers to count all the times he'd been sent to the hospital wing from a potions accident. "He was brave, though?"

"To the point of recklessness."

"I wish I could be that brave," he sighed. "According to Gran, he wasn't scared of anything."

A wicked grin lit up Jenny's face, looking over at Frank. If he'd been able to, she guessed he'd have urged her to tell his son. "Well...there was one thing.."

"James, you are never, ever, ever, picking headquarters again," Alice swore vehemently, glaring at her fellow seventh year.

"Not your place to decide that," he said smugly. "It's great, isn't it Padfoot? ... Padfoot?"

Sirius looked about in distaste. "My mother would like it, Prongs. My _mother_ would like it." As everyone knew, that was the worst insult Sirius could possibly bestow.

"Lily?" he said, offended, turning to his girlfriend for support.

She looked about the dusty mansion, trying to be polite. "It's very…big."

"And pink," Frank added with disgust. "Pink, Potter. What possessed you to pick a house decorated pink?"

"It belonged to some Squib's aunt," James said, indignant. "She had very powerful wards around it and Dumbledore highly recommended it as a possibility."

"She's also been dead fifteen years," Remus stated calmly, glaring at his friend. "I am not staying here for a week, James. I told you that when I offered to let you pick this time after Moody suggested I do it."

Alice smiled at the ceiling, looking less disgusted "Oh, look, there's little cherubs."

The boys all looked up, terror on their faces, expecting some horrid mural. When they realized nothing was there, they shot her dirty looks.

"This place is a filthy wreck, and we're expected to stay here?" Peter said, speaking up and surprising everyone. He was only reiterating what the others had said, but he usually wouldn't defy James. Maybe Wormtail was developing some backbone.

"Are you mad?" Jenny said suddenly. "Are we witches or not? Lil, the color."

Lily, suddenly beaming, performed a complex charm, the color of the walls becoming a tasteful cream. "Too bad it's not so easy to clean it," Lily said, eyeing all the areas they'd have to handle one step at a time. James shrugged. It wasn't like they'd be staying long enough to bother. Easter holidays were hardly more than an extended weekend; they'd have to back in school soon.

"Ladies," said Frank gallantly, "your coats?" Lily handed him her trench coat, and Jenny shrugged out of Sirius' oversized dragon hide jacket he'd lent her on the way over. Alice had opted not to where one, so it was especially nice of the graduate to offer. Selecting a closet door, he stepped inside- only to immediately back out with a startled shout.

James immediately was at his side, wand drawn. "What?" he snapped, his natural command entering his tones unconsciously.

Frank's face was slightly pale. "Enormous rat in there, mate. Filthy thing, three feet large at least."

"Rodents of Unusual Size? Didn't think they exist," Jenny mused.

Her sometime boyfriend nudged her. "ROUSes? They don't."

"But-" Frank stammered, pointing at the closet.

Impatiently, Alice pushed her way through, then opened the door, stepping slightly inside. She instantly backed out. "Boggart," she said automatically, beads of sweat on her pretty face.

"How'd you know?" Peter asked, all of them giving him looks of 'you idiot' at the comment.

"Frank, clearly, isn't dead," Alice retorted, calmed as she rejoined her boyfriend.

"Frank's scared of rats?" James and Sirius chorused, evil grins erupting on their faces as they looked at Wormatil, who didn't catch on.

Frank looked at Alice, oddly. "Wait. Your worst fear is my death? Me? Does that mean you-"

Turning red, Alice bustled off towards the kitchen, and Frank had the distinct feeling that if he were to look at the boggart again, it might be something slightly different.

Sirius sharply inclined his head towards Wormtail, gesturing to the right with a jerking nod. Peter didn't catch on, looking at him blankly. Black made little scampering motions with his hand. Wormtail's eyes widened, and he shook his head fervently. Sirius gestured even more vehemently, and with a resigned groan, the other Marauder slunk behind a curtain.

Remus had opened the closet fully, and a small white orb drifted in front of him. "Ridikulus!" he called, and a small cow floated over the moon, and the craters formed a face which stuck out his tongue. Jenny and Lily laughed while Remus guffawed at his creation, and the boggart faded in a wisp of smoke.

Peter chose that moment to rush out as a rat, scampering about Frank's feet. Longbottom jumped with a loud yelp, then, cursing, drew his wand and began to send hexes flying at the creature. Wormtail dodged nimbly, looking very nervous

Sirius, before Frank could do any more damage, stuck his foot out and pushed the rat gently off to the side, whistling innocently. Frank trembled slightly, with fury. "I know you did that, Black."

"Who, me?" He waited for James' approving smirk, and looked slightly peeved his friend had failed to notice.

"The boggart's already gone, James," Lily snapped.

"But there's others," he pleaded, a curious look in his eye. "C'mon, Lil, what are you most scared of? Could it possibly be.losing me?"

"Shove it," Lily said, indignant. James had only recently become her boyfriend, and he still could irritate her on a moment's whim.

"If it's not me, then why don't we go see what it is?" he said, eyes alight. A house like this had to have more than one boggart wandering around.

Sirius snickered. "Yeah, you should talk, Mister I'm-scared-I'll-miss- the-snitch."

James whirled, eyes firey, nearly knocking his glasses of in his jerking movement. "That was second year! And what about you, huh? Slimy, scaly, cloaked dementors!"

Sirius, taken aback, shuddered. "Hey, dementors are scary. Unlike, say, rats," he laughed at Frank, who looked warily about for the rat. As Peter had just reentered, he was unlikely to find it.

"They're fast, ugly, and they carry diseases," Frank said sniffily. "And if you must know, my cousin thought it would be funny to unleash a whole box of them on me when I was sleeping as a young boy."

"Why didn't we ever think of that?" James wondered, turning around. "Where'd Lily go?"

"Kitchen," said Sirius, jerking his thumb where the redhead had dragged her best friend off to without a word. "C'mon, I'm starved."

"Think we can bribe them into making something for us?" Frank said hopefully, knowing none of the girls would be willing to do so.

Sirius looked pained. "Hell, no. Have you ever tasted Jenny's cooking? I'll be making the food, thank you very much."

"Hey! I heard that!"

Naturally, Jenny could only tell Neville a very condensed version, not wanting to bring the Marauders into it.

"Rats? Really?" He seemed bemused. "They are creepy little things, I guess. They never frightened me, though." The boy seemed proud of that.

"You'd get that from Alice, then," Jenny said with a nod. "She liked all creatures, even the gifts I'd get from Hagrid- and you'd find it easier to like Snape," she chuckled.

"Professor Snape?"

Her hand shot to her mouth. "Oops, shouldn't be disrespecting a teacher in front of a student. Yeah, the bozo was in my year. Slytherin slimeball."

Neville looked surprised, and blushing, lowered his voice. "When I was learning how to fight a boggart, it turned into Snape. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the time, Professor Lupin, suggested putting him in my grandmother's clothes. I haven't been as scared of him since!"

Jenny laughed, loudly. "That's great! Moony must have found that hilarious. Lupin went to school with me, too- actually, he's here right now, asleep upstairs. I'll tell him you said hi."

"You know everybody, don't you?" Neville said shyly.

"Hardly," she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Only a few people I know are still alive, anyway. Lupin's about the only friend I've got left- except for your parents, of course," she added hastily.

Neville only looked down, demonstrating tactfully that he knew perfectly well his parents were worse than dead. "I'll kill her," he said quietly, almost imperceptibly. "I'll kill her for doing this to them."

"Bellatrix?" Jenny asked, frowning. "You'll have to beat me to her. I should have killed her when I had the chance."

Neville's head shot up, chin determined. "When did you have the chance? Why didn't you kill her?"

A small sigh escaped her lips. "I wish I had. I'm the one who caught her, you see. I went after your parents' attackers, with Alastor Moody's help. Others were looking- but I found them first. Our minds work..similiarly. I knew her at school, and I knew where she'd hide. I defeated her..I had my wand at her throat..and I couldn't kill her. An important difference between us- I couldn't kill in cold blood. So I knocked her out, and turned her in- didn't think she'd ever escape. If I'd been able to..a good friend would still be alive."

"The man who fell through the veil?" Neville wondered.

A pair of footsteps and a loud voice talking to a nurse sounded down the hall.

Jenny nodded, thinking back to what Fred and George had told her hours ago. "Right, you were at the Department of Mysteries. Must be quite the duelist. I bet your grandmother's proud of you."

Neville blushed and scuffed his shoe against the floor. "I've improved a bit, I guess. I'm not that good, though- I lost my wand pretty soon. It was my dad's too, all ruined now. Gran's proud, I guess, but it's hard to tell since she was so upset I broke it. We were on our way to Diagon Alley, actually, to get me another one. It's not safe to go the whole summer without one with V-V-You-Know-Who around."

"Yeah, him," she said unhappily. She stood up from her slouched position in the chair, right as his grandmother turned the cornor. "I better be going, kiddo, people will be wondering where I am." A lack of bounce was visible in her step, and she seemed weighted down and a bit older.

But before she'd taken three steps, Jenny paused, just as Mrs. Longbottom stepped inside the curtained off area. Reaching into a pocket she'd forgotten about, she swiveled and tossed it, right at Neville.

The boy, surprised, managed to get his hand up and caught the slim stick rather accurately, with only a trace of a clumsy fumble.

"Go on," she said, smiling. "Give it a wave."

He flicked it, and a stream of gold emerged from the whitish wood, swirling about him in sparkles. His mouth opened like a fish's, and Mrs. Longbottom looked equally surprised. Neville had never had such good results with his father's trusty wand.

"Keep it," she told him casually. "Gryffin feather and olive branch, nine ¾ inches. Very old wand. I picked it up recently, but don't really have any use for it. If you're going to Diagon Alley anyway, stop in and show it to Ollivander- he'll get a kick out of it." She winked. "Tell him Jenny Philips gave it to you."

"Guineviere, that's far too generous!" Mrs. Longbottom protested, her face twisting between a frown and a smile.

She shrugged. "Not like I have any use for it. Use it well- I've got the feeling it'll suit you." As she jogged lightly away, she seemed to almost float, the bounce returned.

Meanwhile, Fred and George jumped in terror as a strange ringing noise came from somewhere around the room. Healers skittered away nervously, but the two boys looked around for the source.

Bbbbrrrriiiinnnnggg!

It came again, from near Remus' head. The boys approached cautiously, studying the jacket he was resting on. The werewolf slept right through the noise. Fred, with a jerk, tugged it out from Remus' head, as George dropped a water pellet on his head to wake him up. Gallons of water spurted over his head as Lupin jerked awake, soaked and grumpy.

Fred was examining the coat. "Have to get one of these," he commented, feeling a bulge in the jacket pocket. He tugged it out, finding a small, strange silver box shape. He flipped up the lid, and saw a display of numbers and words. He frowned. He'd seen this before. "Hey, George, I think this is a tellytone!"

His brother ogled at him. "Fellytones have cords, though, don't they?" he said wisely, thinking of the strange objects his father had cluttered about their house.

Remus, dripping on the carpet, snatched the device from the twins. "It's a telephone," he said bitterly, glaring at them out of sleep-deprived eyes. He hadn't used one of these in years, certainly not one without a cord. Squinting at it, he pressed the talk button and raised it to his ear.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in England?!" a voice blared, sounding infuriated and heavily Irish.

"Er." said Remus uncomfortably.

The voice paused, discontinued its tirade, and said menacingly, "Who is this?" Before Remus could answer, the voice made another demand in its thick brogue. "Where's Jenny? What did you do to her? Why the hell do you have her cell?"

"Cell?" said poor Remus, utterly bewildered.  
An exceptionally large barn owl chose that moment to come flying straight through the grass, shattering the window. It dropped the letter straight onto Fred's head, then gestured its talon indicating it wanted to be paid.

Fred rummaged in his jeans and pulled out a Knut, which he handed the bird triumphantly. Offended, the bird hooted, dropped the Knut, and began to dive bomb the twins. George, hurridly, swooped up Disapparting Darts and began chucking them at the bird. When that falied, he began to pick up a Skiving Snackbox, thought better of it, and used another water pellet. Waterlogged, the bird's efforts to pluck their eyes out diminished.

Abruptly, Jenny sauntered into the room, freezing at the sight. She raised her wand quickly, bringing a net out of nowhere which enveloped the bird completely, bringing it to the floor. Stalking over to Remus, she grinned at him and mouthed something.

"What?" he asked, lowering the phone.

"Who is it?" she asked calmly.

He shrugged. "Some lunatic guy trying to talk to you."

Her grin faltered. "Drew or Fitz?"

He looked at her blankly.

"Stiff American or an Irish chap?" she clarified.

"Definitely Irish," he said. She smiled again, relieved, and took the phone. She didn't even want to know how her friend had gotten this number.

"Fitz?"

The voice on the other line calmed. "' Ello, darlin. Whatcha doin' in England?" She could practically see his waves of medium brown hair, his sharp chin, and slantingly narrowed green eyes, always suspicious of everyone. A slight note of jealousy entered his voice. "Does this have something to do with that ex of yours? Whatsis name."

"Something to do with him," she interrupted, voice pained. "He's dead."

"Ah, Jen, I'm sorry," he said genuinely, feeling awful. "Back for the funeral or something?"

"I wish," she murmured. "Voldemort's back, Fitz."

"WHAT?"

"Yep."

He swore vehemently. "The old bad 'un, eh? Jeez. Jeez! Want me to call in the calvary?" he said, referring to his rough and ready team, which worked in association with Jenny's organization.

"Nah, better to hold out for back up. You're not far if I need you," she said, smiling slightly. Remus recognized the smile, one she reserved for Gideon Prewett and Sirius in the old days.

"Which reminds me- Roger called saying he was sending your stuff." Her cringe was practically audible. "I know, I know, I'll try to intercept it. Bye, then, Jen. Careful, now," he warned her. "Don't want you dead."

"Lovely," she drawled, and he laughed and clicked off.

Remus eyed her, feeling rather protective of Sirius, even though he was gone. He should have realized- it wasn't like they'd been a couple, and it wasn't like Sirius had been dead, rather jailed, thought possibly guilty of a terrible crime. He realized she must have had some relationships, friendships. After all, it had been fourteen years- and Jenny was far more outgoing then he. "Your, ah- boyfriend?"

She wrinkled her nose, surprised at the thought. "Er, sometimes. Rather, he was. We couldn't really manage a relationship, you see. Both too different, and stuff. Plus, Sirius..." She paused, uncomfortable, it unitentionally clear that the specter of their relationship had long hung over head, and probably still did. "Fitz- Doyle Fitzgerald, that is, he's a great guy. We were friends first, and we still are."

"He sounded batters to me," Remus commented, shaking water from his hair.

She laughed at once, and he stared at her, wondering what could possibly be so funny. "It's just-" she hiccuped, her upset combining into hilarity "-he's a vampire, and he abhors that whole turn into bat myth."

"A vampire?"

"C'mon, you're one to talk," she chided. His look was still concerned. Unlike werewolves, vampires were plagued by their inner monster constantly, with a thirst for blood. No more immortal than Remus, vampires had their weaknesses in three things; the sun, which burned them terribly; water, which at cold temperatures felt to them incredibly hot while perfectly bearable when heated; and a reaction to certain types of wood the same way werewolves were averse to silver. Come to think of it, vampires weren't big on silver themselves. These weaknesses had caused ridiculous Muggle legends to spring up about them, believing such nonsense as only stakes could kill them. In return, vampires retained a youthful look, even in old age, an incredible strength akin to Remus' as the wolf, and powerful senses, including smell, which made them wary of odors like garlic. Their pale pallor from lack of sun and thirst for blood caused Muggles to believe they were 'undead', which was utter nonsense. They appeared totally normal, though they could transform at will, teeth lengthening and eyes becoming like those of an animal. A bite from a vampire in that form made more vampires, just as among the werewolf, though in both instances the victim rarely survived to become one. Many, of course, managed to live normal lives, abating their thirst with provided animal blood and snacks like Blood-Flavored Lollipops. The majority, though, like the occasional feral werewolf, went wild, rampaging and murdering. Jenny, clearly, kept dangerous company.

"You'd like Fitz," she said, after an awkward moment. "He deals with it very well, really- maybe even better than you." Under his whithering stare, she furthered her explanation.

"Well, he doesn't do that whole isolation, needless guilt thing you put yourself through ever so often. You put a lot of pressure on yourself. He's a wizard vamp, most common type, and he's organized a whole squad, all trustworthy. Not that I don't realize the danger of that- believe me, there was a whole army in America, adding to its ranks from teenagers. Stupid Muggle kids, romanticizing the whole business," she added, with a shake of her head. "Fitz is a bit wild, though. Ever so often, he comes close to crossing a line. Takes everything as bit of a joke. Crazy guy acts like he's a teenager, and he's two years my senior."

"All your boyfriend's nuts?" Remus wondered, remembering Jenny had always had a penchant for 'bad boys' who weren't as bad as they seemed. She shrugged in response as he continued. "Padfoot wouldn't appreciate my saying that, but he was, after all. Gideon Prewett-"

"Not my boyfriend," she said touchily, an old subject. "We went to a few- places together, that's all. We were just friends."

Maybe, thought Remus, but Gideon was mad about her. Just didn't realize it until she was taken...

"Oh, shut up," she said irritably. "I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong."

"Sorry to interrupt this fascinating conversation," said Fred, finally plucking the letter from where it nestled in his hair. George, who'd been trying to give the bird Sickles, relented and choked up a Galleon as payment. The owl, satisfied, shook what it hadn't shredded of the net off and flew out the shattered window. Fred handed the letter to Remus, who wiped his wet hands on the couch before grabbing it.

He ripped it open and studied it, looking worried. "Order business. Meeting at headquarters, two hours." He groaned as the boys picked up the shredded envelope. Along with the names of the adults, the intended recipitent read Messr. and Messr. Weasley in flowing script.

The twins grinned wildly at each other. It seemed they'd be attending their first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

Jenny, on the other hand, looked worried. Apparently, she'd have to face her uncle sooner than she'd thought...


	11. Mission: Doge

A sheet of softly falling rain fell quietly from the darkened sky, as if it wept. Four figures approached a fairly empty street in London, three of them clutching brooms, and one, a woman, looking back slightly nervously as if she'd just left her most precious possession behind her; which, in fact she had, having parked her motorbike several streets back for security reasons.

"Here we are," said Remus glumly, staring at the forbidding house of the Blacks, which made him think with a pang of how Sirius was forced to stay in it, practically a prisoner, for nearly a full year. Departing from gloomy thoughts, he remembered the Fidelius placed on the house and pulled the letter from Dumbledore out of an inner pocket. "You'll be wanting a look at this, Jen."

"Why?" the woman answered him puzzedly, her blue eyes piercing through him. "Let's go in."

A cold fear clutched his heart, and he snatched at her arm, grabbing it tightly. "You can see it?" he hissed, worry evident in each syllable. Even the Weasley twins stopped whacking each other with their broomsticks, possibly realizing the magnitude of the situation.

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he marveled at her mimicry of his commonly used expression. "Some reason I shouldn't be able to?"

"It's under the Fidelius Charm," Remus said, pulse racing but somehow remaining calm. "No chance you could possibly have some way of getting around it, that allows you to see it?"

"None," she said, frown lines creasing her lovely face. "And even if the Secret-Keeper was dead, or told, I shouldn't be able to see it, since I wouldn't be the one he told it too, and the charm is permanently sealed with one's death."

"What's the loophole?" Fred said patiently.

The adults whirled on him, expressions bewildered.

He sighed with mock condension. "Look, I'm not quite sure what the Fidely-thingy is, but there's always a clause, right? Way to break the rule? Never been anything without a way around it, as far as I'm concerned."

Remus considered. An epiphany came to him at once. "Didn't work on Sirius, because the true owner has to give his consent, just like Harry could never have been hidden from Lily and James, because he's of them. We were a bit worried about Bellatrix and Narcissa, but they're not the true heir, so it proved not to be an issue. Regulus was left the house, he was dead, so it was Sirius'. But Padfoot never wrote a will- period. There's no way he would have done it as a boy, because the house wasn't even his and-"

"Remus! Rambling." Jenny shook her finger at him admonishingly, though her facel looked confused. "Now, you're right- there's no way in hell the house belongs to me. Which suggests that there's something powerfully tied to me in the house, something of my essence. That's not possible, though, since Sirius and I didn't start dating until after he'd moved out. And I didn't leave anything like that with you- I can't even remember having any object that closely tied to me." She turned to the twins, who seemed about to speak. "And though I'd bet my life my uncle's the Secret Keeper, don't give me any nonsense about it being because I'm related to him. Nothing to do with it. And no, I haven't read anything in my uncle's hand." She said all this without pausing for breath.

"Now who's rambling?" Remus asked innocently, then became solemn. "Don't mention this to anyone- I think it best we figure and out- quickly. If the charm doesn't work on you, it's all too likely it won't work on somebody else- someone of considerable more danger to our secret. As far as we're concerned, you just read it in his writing like everyone else- got it, boys?" The hint of menace in his tone made them snap to attention and salute.

"Aye, aye, Moony, sir!" they chorused. The werewolf restrained himself from rolling his eyes, and carefully gazing about the street, strolled up the porch of number eleven and sidled swiftly down to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. He gripped the knob, ignoring the snake designs on the door. Sirius had occupied himself one day counting all the snakes in his house- there had turned out to be 13,456, but the next day Padfoot had sworn at least ten more had appeared on the stair railing alone. Remus didn't doubt it.

Swinging open the door, he stepped inside, holding it open for the others out of habit.

"Oi, Rem!" called Sturgis Podmore, rushing over, face grim. He clasped hands with Lupin, then his eyes fell on the twins. "Oh, bugger, what are they doing here?"

"In the Order," Fred told him, beaming.

"How the hell did- oh."

Jenny had just stepped inside, and Sturgis paused, eyeing her in disbelief. "How do I know you're really who you appear to be?"

"Because I say so," Moody growled, approaching behind him and causing Podmore to jump several feet into the air. Moody tapped his eye. "If it wasn't her, I'd know."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sturgis," Jenny said dryly. By now, the rest of the Order was gathering about, seemingly arrived before them. Some wandered in from the kitchen, others pounding down the stairs (such as Diggle and Fletcher, who managed to knock each other down and land in an undignified heap.)

"Jenny!" called Hestia Jones, positively glowing and throwing her arms around her. "Wonderful to see you!"

"Lookin' great, Philips. Haven't aged a day," Mundungus said, looking her up and down. He tugged his grease stained robes. "Me, on the other hand.."

"Guineviere," stately Emmeline Vance greeted her, shaking the younger woman's hand in a surprisingly strong grip.

Dedalus Diggle wouldn't stop shaking her hand- he tended to get overexcited easily, Remus thought laughingly. He watched as his friend was mobbed by the Order members and studied them carefully. The group seemed terribly small. Arabella Figg wasn't here, but she rarely attended Auror meetings.Still, someone wasn't here..but he couldn't put his finger on it.

A slight crack could be heard outside, and another figure entered, stiffening at the sight. He threw off the trenchcoat he'd had draped over him to appear just a passing Muggle, and glared about with his black eyes. Remus' hand went to his forehead in dismay. With the mood Jenny had been in since she'd seen the Longbottoms, the last thing they needed was Snape.

The Potions Master stormed in, pausing at the sight of the clustered Order. "What's all this?" he asked silkily, a note of contempt in his tone. Jenny's head went up in recognition, and she swiveled to face him.

His eyes narrowed angrily. "You!"

"Yeah. Me."

Remus needed to stifle any possible confrontation, and fast. But what Severus said next didn't exactly help matters.

"Next you'll be telling me Black's back from the dead," he sneered. "I've already got his foolish godson blaming me, the last thing I need is his former paramour running-"

"I am nobody's paramour!" Jenny said hotly, and the crowd stepped back. Her hand clearly itched for her wand, and it drew ever nearer to it. Wouldn't Severus just love that, if he could goad Jenny into attacking him. "I don't recall, Severus, you not deserving blame for anything you helped cause. What did he have to do with Sirius' death?" she demanded of Remus, blue eyes landing on him.

Apparently, the Weasley twins hadn't given her every detail of the matter. He answered, quietly. "After Harry's vision, he attempted to warn Severus of the matter, in code, in front of Umbridge. Snape followed up on the matter, but from his return comment, Harry presumed.."

"You couldn't have just responded in code?" Jenny snapped at the spy.

"It's not like Potter and I have a code worked out," Snape shot back. "My position would have been compromised, regarding both Umbridge and the Dark Lord. At least he, unlike you, was fulfilling his duties as a godparent." Jenny blanched, and Severus smiled cruelly. "Ironically, had Potter not rushed off in an attempt to save Black, the Order would not have suffered any casualties. Arrogant boy- how like his father-"

"Don't you dare bring James into this!" Jenny said vehemently, her voice becoming deadly quiet. In the old days, it would have rose in volume- and that gave Remus cause to worry.

Snape smirked at her. "Perhaps, had either of them ever paused to allow one sane thought to enter their enormous heads-"

Jenny's wand was on him before anyone in the room could even blink. Her hand was steady, but her voice trembled with emotion. "One word, just one more word Snape." she warned.

Mundungus swiftly pulled several Sickles out of his pocket. "Ten to one odds she kills him," he muttered to Mundungus.

George glanced at the money, then grinned. "She won't, at least not without tortutring him first. You're on- Remus'll stop her."

"Jenny!" said Remus, shocked. When had she started losing her temper at the drop of a hat? It was so… so Sirius of her!

A piercing shriek lit the air and a flash of red zoomed through the gathering. Jenny blinked twice at the bird, then her eyes turned to the hall that lead from the kitchen. Remus thought she looked like a trapped predator, denied its kill, and she sighed, her anger draining, putting away her wand. Remus had a bad feeling her temper hadn't spent itself yet- she was saving it for someone else.

"Enough!" a voice boomed, power flooding from it. Tall and wearing flowing scarlet robes of a plush material, Albus Dumbledore entered the room, white beard reaching halfway to the floor. "Guineviere Maeve Morgana Dumbledore Philips! _What_ do you think you're playing at!" Behind his half moon glasses, his blue eyes, several shades lighter than Jenny's, looked almost angry.

Jenny looked rocked as she met his gaze, though clearly not from his anger. It took a moment for it to click in Remus' mind. Jenny hadn't seen her uncle in almost fifteen years, and he looked noticeably older and more frail. There were deep lines, looking ancient, that had not been there scarce a decade ago; he looked, for the first time to Jenny, an old man. Having watched him age, it had barely been noticed by Remus, except with the occasional touch of concern, but Jenny had been anticipating the Dumbledore of the past, not today.

"Uncle Albus," she said coolly, as if she had never lost her serenity at all. It unnerved Remus she was able to do that- in the old days, her emotions could be read like a book. From the look on his face, Albus hadn't been expecting it either. "My apologies. I simply believe the honor of the dead should remain untouched." She threw a scathing look at Snape. "And I can't say that insults to my person will be appreciated, either, so try to avoid those in the future as well. Hello again, Fawkes." There was even a touch of humor in her voice.

To Remus' surprise, the great bird flew over to him and perched on his shoulder, unintentionally digging his talon slightly into his flesh. Remus grimaced, but petted the phoenix and allowed it to remain, wondering how Dumbledore could stand it all the time.

Dumbledore's gaze, after examining Jenny, turned to scrutinize Snape, who wilted under his slightly reproachful glance. "As much as you disliked some of those who are now gone, it might be wise, Severus, if you were to keep those opinions to yourself." Bemusedly, he next glanced at the Weasley twins, who were taking money from a disappointed Mundungus. "Mr. and Mr. Weasley. How wonderful to see you again. A pity I didn't get to see your apparently remarkable escape from the school. Minerva has been telling me of your quite amusing antics. I hope you intend to visit."

They cracked identical grins, relieved he wasn't angry they'd joined the Order behind his back. "Maybe, if we get enough business from good ol' Hogwarts," Fred said, a hint in his tone.

Dumbledore's smile vanished as he turned from the boys. "To business," he said briskly, and whisked his wand as he headed into the living room, which hadn't been very lively the summer previous. A large table, with several extra seats-for late arrivals? Remus wondered-appeared instantly, with a mahogany perch for Fawkes nearby. His talon detached from Remus' shoulder as he swooped over to his "seat". Dumbledore stroked him absently, remaining standing as they seated themselves. Remus made sure he and Jenny were as far away from both Dumbledore and Snape as possible.

"Voldemort has struck an opening attack for the first time since his return," Albus said gravely, his eyes meeting each one of them in turn. "Before, he has worked in stealth, but the efforts of all, along with painful mistakes, have finally brought the truth to light. He no longer has any need to hide- a fortune we do not share. The Ministry, as we know, can never fully be trusted, and spies are everywhere. His ranks are rapidly growing, while ours are not. Amelia Bones has finally joined our Order, on my personal request. Her involvement will allow much more freedom, inclding that she has been insuring that no student of Hogwarts who uses magic to defend himself or herself will be expelled. She will also be providing our recruitment division, as will Kingsley Shacklebolt, choosing the top Aurors." The tall black man, slipping into his seat with a slight burn on his forehead and a worried expression, gave Jenny a nod in greeting. Dumbledore continued, "Hagrid has managed to obtain a giant ally by the name of Grawp. They are trying to contact some of the giants of Wales and Irelans, but they are reclusive and well hidden, more peaceful than England's own, since fled."

Jenny's head, from where she'd slouched in her seat, bobbed up. "Finn MacCool," she stated, and they all stared at her.

"The mythological giant?" Sturgis asked.

"No, a Welsh giant, named after the giant hero. I don't know him personally, but my primary contact can get in touch with him."

"You can pass the information on to Hagrid later," Dumbledore told her calmly. "I'm sure it will prove useful. As I was saying, we are hoping to thus build an adequate defense against the giants. Voldemort also has a legion of dementors, which are extremely hard to deafeat. Powerful Patronuses are a must. I suggest, if you have trouble to the charm, that you speak to Remus Lupin. He's something of an expert." Remus restrained himself from reacting to this; he hardly thought himself an expert. "Voldemort also seems to have been capturing dragons, specifically Hebridean Blacks. They won't obey his orders, hopefully, but he most likely intends to set them ravaging the countryside. Charlie Weasley has recently returned; I will consult him and ask him to summon some of his colleagues to help attend to the problem."

Remus didn't like the sound of that 'hopefully'.

Fawkes let out a high pitched note, and Dumbledore smiled benignly, facing the entryway, expectantly. "Ah. Here he is now."

Charlie and Tonks burst through the door, carrying brooms and slightly wet from the drizzle, which seemed to have begun again. Tonks' hair, at the moment, was a rather peach color, and her face was a bit more triangular than usual. She stumbled over a bright purple umbrella that probably belonged to Diggle, caught herself on the wall, only to stumble once more. "We're late! Sorry, sorry!" she shouted, pulling out her chair. Moody glared at his protégé.

Charlie had a warm glow about him. "Bill's awake! He's going to be fine! No brain damage or anything! A bit red, though- that Delacour girl's fawning all over him. Oh, yeah, he said he's been meaning to suggest her as a recruit for the Order- says she was brilliant in the tournament. I think he may just want to be around her, more, though," he said wickedly, a grin oddly like that of the twins' tracing across his jaw. He took a chair of his own.

"Which brings up yet another point," Dumbledore conceded, face suddenly dark, "and the very reason for this assembly. Last night, Voldemort attacked two families, the Weasleys and the Woods, along with a Muggle town just short of Glasgow. Bill Weasley, a member of this Order, and Fred Weasley, who is present, were both gravely wounded., but no fatalities were suffered among the Weasleys, thankfully. Elizabeth Wood, an Auror on the verge of joining us, was cruelly murdered, and Elliot Wood's condition cannot yet be determined. He was tortured, and his sanity, at the moment, is rather…indeterminate. Oliver, their son, was luckily not home. At a nearby town, seven Muggle casualties occurred, and several more were taken by the dementors in a widespread attack by the former guards of Azkaban. Their present condition is not looking well." Dumbledore's head seemed to hang heavily, although his chin was upright, and his voice was weighted with an indescribable emotion, perhaps something between sorrow and weariness. "The Death Eaters Travers and Wilkes attacked the Woods, with a surprising number of recent, youthful additions to Voldemort's service. Unfortunately, by the time our agents reached there, the damage had been done. The Death Eaters had fled, releasing the Dark Mark, although several of Voldemort's latest servants were caught. Elphias Doge went after them.Meanwhile, Mulciber, Travers' former partner, orchestrated the attack on the Weasleys, along with Macnair. They and their followers were rather successfully repelled there, thanks to the products provided by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Partly thanks to a timely arrival on the part of Remus Lupin and Guinevere Philips, the only lasting damage was to the Burrow. However, we have not been so lucky in other areas. Elphias has not yet returned. Our source in Voldemort's Inner Circle," every pair of eyes in the room turned to Severus, "we have some idea of what took place. Travers and Wilkes lead Elphias straight to a legion of dementors lead by Bellatrix Lestrange in an attack on a Muggle town. Mulciber joined them there, although MacNair was apparently elsewhere. Expecting Travers and Mulciber to be working together in the old days, Elphias was not aware of Wilkes and was captured unawares." Dumbledore hesitated. "His condition remains unknown. He appeared to be in an instable trance. My hopes lie in a recent request of Voldemort's, demanding potions relating to sleep. It was assumed at the time that they may have been for his favorites, suffering memories of Azkaban and requiring Dreamless Sleep, or perhaps even for himself."

"He doesn't have nightmares. He is one," Emmeline Vance said quietly, bitterly. Dumbledore recognized her statement with a slight inclination of his chin.

"It is quite likely Voldemort has used these potions on Elphias, possibly to weaken his mind to make him more susceptible to the Leglimens Curse. We need to remove Elphias in the hopes of saving him, yet if he is beyond it, or impossible to rescue, we need to insure he cannot give up any information," the old man went on, head bowed.

The Weasleys and Tonks, newcomers to such business, blanched at the implication.

"Therefore, we need an operative team to attempt a rescue-"

"I'm in," said Jenny loudly, putting her wand on the table, an age old symbol of volunteering.

Mildly, Dumbledore looked at her solemnly. "No, you are not."

Her voice became dangerously silky and quiet. "What?"

"You are not needed for this operation. Your skills are not neccessary," he repeated calmly.

"Are you completely off your rocker?" she asked incredulously, inciting gasps from the occupants of the table and snickers from Fred and George. She had risen halfway off her seat, and glared furiously at Albus. "My skills aren't _necessary_? Hell, you don't even know what my skills are!"

"You aren't needed. Remus Lupin will command the mission."

Remus' head jerked around as if he were a marionette whose string had been pulled. "Pardon?"

If anything could have taken the wind out of Jenny's sails, it was that. She slumped back into her seat. "He could use back up. What's wrong with using -"

"Over-qualified," said Dumbledore curtly. "You never were good at taking orders- I doubt that has changed, despite the years."

"I resent that! I never objected to one of James' plans, not once! The only person I have trouble taken orders from is you, playing your twisted game with fate and-"

"Jenny!" said Remus warningly, glancing about the assembled Order.

It was enough. She stopped, but the look in her eyes said that this wasn't over. "Fine, then, I won't go. I think I'd rather stay, actually, dear Uncle, and have a conversation with you."

Remus' hand went to his forehead. Only Jenny was mad enough to speak to Albus Dumbledore like that- something about her being related to him had long ago deprived her of any respect for the great man. Probably, it had something to do with her being treated even harder by him than anyone else, and the fact that her parents had been murdered mostly because of their relation to him. Jenny had oft complained that Albus was a great man, warm and willing to help… unless you were close to him, in which case he just pushed you away and acted as if you didn't exist. Remsu had never bought that theory, but considering the past year's occurrences regarding Harry…

He smiled gently. "I look forward to it. Remus, Kingsley will go along with you as your second and strategic expert." Shacklebolt cracked a grin on his solemn-looking face, eager for action. Remus wondered why he had been appointed in charge over the slightly older Auror. "Nymphadora Tonks will come along as well, to help with deceptive purposes." Tonks looked slightly apprehensive and nervous, but primarily furious at being called Nymphadora. Emmeline Vance, Sturgis, and several others had expressions on their faces suggesting amazement she had been chosen over them to join the op. "Charlie Weasley, you'll be needed as well- our source suggests that several dragons have been spotted near that particular rendevous of Voldemort's." The second oldest Weasley nodded grimly, his face not betraying any emotion. "Lastly, a second Mr. Weasley will be joining the team, for purposes of distraction and gaining experience."

"You can't be serious!" snapped Moody, utterly horrified. His magical eye bulged so much it looked as if it would pop right out of the socket.

The others, however, were far more concerned with something. "Only one of us?" George and Fred wailed in unison.

Jenny practically rose from her seat before recalling she wasn't in charge here and sitting back down, leaning forward so far she was practically horizontal. "Dividing. Again. Dammit, didn't you learn your lesson last time? We won't leave someone behind, no matter what! It wouldn't have made a difference if you'd sent someone else with Fabian, no one would have let someone else buy them time to escape! Honestly, do you think Charlie's going to-"

"Guineviere, that is hardly my reasoning!" he thundered. "I did, as you say, 'learn my lesson' last time. If you recall, Fred Weasley is still wounded. He is in no condition to go on such a mission."

"Screw that!" said Fred, infuriated. "I'm fine- if that silly bird would just heal up the itty bitty cut that's left, I'd be right as rain!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Ah, Mr. Weasley, I do believe you made a bargain with Fawkes." The vibrantly scarlet bird let out a sound that seemed the equivalent of a hearty chuckle. "By no means does a phoenix feather come lightly. It is a rare and priceless gift- particularly from this bird. It would be folly to ask a phoenix for a feather normally, but Fawkes has long taken a liking to you two. However, you cannot ask two things of a magical creature at once. He healed your brother, and he gave you the feather. Therefore, wait until you are fully, naturally healed. You will get your chance, Fred, I promise you."

Fred's eyes were fiery, and Dumbledore's words did little to abate his anger.

"What if I refuse to go without Fred?" said George stubbornly.

Moody turned to him. "Not that simple, boy. Part of being in the Order is not to turn down assignments. Occasionally kamikaze missions can be refused, but this shouldn't be one of them. You'll go, boy, whether you like it or not."

George gulped under Moody's fevered stare. "Sure, right, going, yes, sir, honor to serve under Moony, righto, whenever you say."

Dumbledore looked quite amused. "You'll be leaving immediately, of course. Not a second can be spared." He waved his wan, and a piece of folded parchment appeared. "Remus, your directions."

Remus flicked his wand, and the paper zoomed to his hand. He knew better than to look at it now.

Dumbledore met each gaze around the table, than closed his eyes in brief thought. They fluttered open almost at once. "Meeting dismissed. Guineviere, a word."

"Or several," she muttered. Standing to leave, Remus rushed to catch her arm.

"Jenny, don't do anything stupid."

She smirked, though her heart clearly wan't in it. "Define stupid."

Remus shook his head in disbelief. "Anything that will get you kicked out of the Order or utterly ruin whatever remnants of a relationship you have with Dumbledore. Basically, don't goad him, don't draw your wand on him, and for heaven's sake, don't say anything you'll regret." He considered. "Never mind, you wouldn't regret it. Just don't say anything I wouldn't ever say, all right? If it comes down that low, don't say anything Sirius wouldn't say. Please, Jen?"

She patted his shoulder. "No problem, Rem. I can get away with a lot under that Sirius clasue, anyway." She caught the expression on his face. "Chill out, will you? I won't do anything stupid, I swear- though I do intend to express my opinion. Be careful, all right? Don't do anything.er...James wouldn't do, okay? Good luck." She smiled genuinely, than trailed off after Dumbledore, glancing at Fred, who was down on his hands and knees before Fawkes.

"C'mon, Fawkes, before they leave! I'll do anything, birdie, anything- no, don't fly away!" The beautiful red gold bird preened its feathers casually. As Fred moved closer, he flew swiftly to a different perch around the room, sometimes apparating to a higher corner. The phoenix tweeted indignantly as Fred said the word 'birdie'. Catching sight of Jenny and Dumbledore heading upstairs, Fawkes, with a squawk, forgot completely about Fred and flapped after them.

Remus, his strike team grouping around him, carefully unfolded the parchment.

Within a quarter of an hour, they had Apparated to a certain distance, measures apart from each other, and rode in two separate, clandestine cars, heading towards Blackpool. Located near the Blackpool pier, a popular wizarding tourist spot, a large, closed tavern known as the Burnt Stake stood alone. According to Snape's carefully gathered information, Voldemort had set up a base there for some of his primary Death Eaters. His actual hideout was protected, and Snape was quite unable to discover its location, although he was able to Apparate there. It was at this tavern that Elphias had been taken. Only a few should be there, but some of the best- Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, certainly, Travers, Wilkes, MacNair, and Mulciber-would be there tonight. Apparently, Snape must be considered among them, if he knew of the place, as only the top did. The goal was not to fight, but to get Elphias out as easily as possible. Remus had come up with a plan, which, while it couldn't top any of James' , was at least clever, if not brilliant. Kingsley had given it his whole hearted approval.

Charlie Weasley had secondary motives, obviously. Several young Hebridean Blacks were held within, and the young man seemed determined to rescue them as well. Remus, not caring much for dragons, didn't know much about the Hebridean Blacks. He knew they fed on deer, but his opinion of them was not too strong, as he remembered Ollivander telling James years after they got their wands that the heartstring of the Hebridean in his wand had been brought down by a large number of stags protecting their herd. (James had found that exceptionally amusing, being an Animagus at that time). Remus, therefore, had given Charlie pretty much free reign. He could only hope it wouldn't affect their mission.

And so, Remus gave the signal for it to begin.

The sign in front of the curtain-drawn tavern suddenly flicked from CLOSED to OPEN.

A knock came at the door.

After a long pause, Macnair, half his mustache missing, opened the door, looking about furiously. Remus caught his breath. This was the most dangerous part.

Hair an incredibly bright orange, deceptive wrinkles covering her elongated face, and with immensely gaudy makeup, Tonks stood there, showing no semblance to her usual self. Her robes indicated fabulous wealth (Remus didn't want to know how George Weasley had managed to produce the outfit with a quick look into his enormous black bag.) Her brightly painted lips broke into a cheery smile, not showing her nervousness. "'Ello, guvner! This be the Burnt Stake, ain't it? Goody! Heard your food is absolutely faaabulous."

George Weasley groaned audibly, causing Lupin to clap a hand over his mouth. Yes, her accent was terrible-who in the world was she trying to imitate, anyways?-but this was the crucial moment. Either Macnair would simply try to kill her, forcing Remus to reveal himself to save her, or he would temporarily be so utterly bewildered the plan would work. Holding his breath, Remus prayed for the latter. It was unfortunate Macnair had answered the door, the man was a butcher. Best would have been Bellatrix, who, half mad, would probably have found it a delightful game, to incite her inside only to end up tormenting her. Macnair was hardly better than a beast in many ways.

"Closed," he said gruffly, allowing Remus to breathe again. The man must be otherwise occupied. He began the next phase of the operation.

"Uh-uh," said Tonks, pouting, a gruesome sight as the elderly witch trying to appear young. "Sign says open, right there."

"Mistake," he grunted, trying to close the door.

Tonks raised her voice. "Now, a handsome young man like you could make an exception for little ol' me, couldn't he?" She shoved her foot in the door as he tried to close it. "Look, I've come a long way to get here, and I want service! I'll pay very well! I'm of an old and noble family, and I have my rights! It's not as if I'm some silly Mudblood wanting service, I, sir, am Alfreida Nott, and I want my food! See here-"

"Theodore Nott's mother?" Macnair said incredulously, letting his hand fall from his pocket from where he'd gripped his wand, ready to strike.

She fluttered her eyelashes. Remus had done quite a good job briefing her, and if anyone had actually met Mrs. Nott, she appeared a dead-ringer for her. "Yes, I see you met my son. He recommended this place to me as an excellent dinery. Such a brave, righteous boy, upholding the rights of the pureblood and thrown into that horrid prison by that traitorous Fudge's government. You are pureblood, aren't you?" Tonks said, a note of suspicion delicately added to her tone. By now, she'd dropped into an aristocratic voice that suited her assumed persona much better. One could tell why she'd been made an Auror now. Such a performance! Sometimes she amazed even herself.

"Mulciber!" Macnair shouted, turning into the darkened room. Tonks could have kissed him; she'd managed to lure yet another Death Eater out.

Meanwhile, George Weasley carefully planted small, earthen brown pots all around the house and gently placed a water pellet, careful not to pop it, on the soil of each of them. He really hoped these worked; he'd had to multiply the prototype on the spot.

There was no back door. So Kingsley made one, burning away at the stone with a powerful fire spell. His family, in generations past, had been blacksmiths, making swords for the likes of Godric Gryffindor and Merlin in the ancient past. Still, none of the old fire magic had ever been forgotten, and he insured it never would be by teaching it to the Aurors he trained. Kingsley had mastered the art, able to cast the element in its raw form. It took only moments for him to silently remove almost an entire wall and the ground that led into the basement, careful not to let any sparks spread or crackle.

"Sure the dragons are there?" he whispered to Charlie.

"I'd bet my life on it," Weasley whispered back, wand ready. "I'd know the cry of a baby dragon anywhere. Be on guard, though. Even if they're not guarded, the dragons aren't going to like us."

"No more than I'll like them," muttered Kingsley. "On the count of three. One... Two… Three..."

Remus performed the Locater spell, which had been his job back in the days he and his friends had created the Marauder's Map. He studied the parchment, on which he had drawn a rough square intended to represent the outline of the building. A dot, faintly flickering, labeled Elphias Doge appeared by the right side of the building, tucked in a corner. Unfortunately, a figure labeled William Travers paced about nearby. Not far from where Remus was standing, but on the second floor, it seemed from the appearance of the suspended dot.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he muttered, levitating upwards. He carefully trained his wand on himself, keeping him afloat. This was not only his entryway, but the last signal, and he'd have to time this perfectly unless he wanted to drop several feet and land on his ass.

Keeping time silently, he jerked his wand away from him, yelling, "Implos!" while lunging forward madly. A hole appeared as brick blew apart, scattering all over. He barely caught the edge, yanking himself up and facing the startled Travers, who fumbled for his wand.

"Stupefy!" Remus called, before Travers even managed to properly draw. He dropped like a stone. He checked the prone Doge for a pulse; finding one, he drew a rope from his wand, cast it outward with a flick that attached it to the windowsill, and watched, pleased, as it attached about Elphias' waist. He grabbed to it himself, gripped Elphias, and leaped out the window, hoping this makeshift spell (and the plan itself) had worked.

Tonks tried to stay in character under the scrutiny of Bellatrix, Mulciber, and Macnair, guessing from Bellatrix's sharp call for 'sweetheart' that Rodolphus Lestrange was the source of the scuffling noise heading to the door. "Yes, darling Theo recommended I drop by. He asked that I give his special device to the chef, as he said."

"Give it to me!" Lestrange hissed, an order in her voice and a strange light in her eyes. All of them apparently seemed convinced that Nott had left a Dark object in his mother's care (which implied several of them had done the same, she reminded herself to suggest that to Kingsley later). Tonks tried not to gulp at the number of wands pointed at her.

"Now, now, I'll wait for the chef. And I'd like a good meal under my belt first, if you please," she said sniffily, wondering at the miraculity of this plan. Remus was a genius, absolutely bally brilliant.

"I'm the chef," said a ratty little man with a runny nose. She tried not to recoil. This was Rodolphus Lestrange!? She didn't think… Flustered, she made a show of digging into her large handbag, also provided by George Weasley.

"Good, then, sir, I'll have it right here." She paused. "I've heard it said you make excellent flounder. Do you think its possible I could have the recipe first?"

A minor explosion rocked the tavern.

"Trick!" Bellatrix snapped, dark eyes eager. "Bring her in, we'll torture her!"

"Torture! Dearie me, you are barbarians!" said Tonks, staying in character. George Weasley, if you don't hurry up, I'll come back as a ghost and make the rest of your life a living hell..

George, skulking in the bushes, heard the explosion and snapped his fingers. The water pellets exploded, and for a moment, there was silence. Then, to his relief, enormous beanstalks sprang from the minature pots, roots sinking into the ground and tendrils snaking about the building, rattling it. With a crash, they pulled the roof in. He knew that wouldn't kill the Death Eaters, naturally, but hopefully the whole building falling on top of them would stall them. Charlie and the others better have gotten out of there, he thought as he raced towards the running car, hidden out of sight.

Clutching a biting, scratching dragon that Charlie assured him couldn't be more than two months old, Kingsley was extremely tempted to bite it back. There were two of them, twins, and he wondered if human babies, particularly Charlies' two brothers, were anything like this. As they leaped from the crumbling building, he asked him.

Charlie's ruddy grin lit up his rather good-looking features. "You kidding? Compared to those two, these cuties are little angels! Hey, ouch!" he scolded the dark dragon in his arms, which snorted fire onto his arm. "Bad manners, you'll have to learn better."

Remus, his wild swinging having propelled him far from the building, ran as fast as he could, lungs burning, Elphias floating swiftly in front of him.

A car came swinging towards him, George Weasley driving (Merlin help them all). From one side, Charlie and Kingsley dove in, clutching little terrors in their laps. Tonks raced away from the building, which had so luckily landed on her 'friends'. As she sprinted, she turned back into her usual self, disgustedly rubbing makeup off her face. She threw herself into the shotgun seat of the car, and they all sped away, crammed and shoving for more room as they raced away to an area where they could Apparate untraceably to headquarters.


	12. Anger and Anxiety

Remus' hair blew in the wind as the car raced away. George laughed with sheer delight and pleasure as he wildly spun the wheel, but the former Marauder frowned severely. He tapped the young Weasley on the shoulder. "Pull over here," he ordered.

The car came to a screeching, sudden halt as George slammed down on the brakes in the middle of the road.

Remus sighed. "To the side, George," he barked, a note of anxiety in his voice. Once George had righted it, he slung himself out of the vehicle. "Stay in the car," he told Tonks and George, who looked offended, while beckoning to Charlie and Kingsley. Remus' eyes fell on the growling, leaping little dragons. "And can you do something with them?"

George grabbed his bag and pulled out a small stick, which he jabbed at with his wand. It immediately began to smoke. The twin plugged his nose. "Whateber you bo, bon't bweathe!"

The others covered their faces at once. Remus, who hadn't had time to gulp a full breath, felt as if his lungs were going to burst before George suddenly waved an all clear signal. The smoky blue incense was putting the snarling, scaly black beasts into a prompt, sound sleep. Their brilliant purple eyes hazed over, and their batlike wings folded around them as a toddler cuddles his blanket. They curled up, dominating nearly the entire backseat of the car, the arrow shaped spikes on their tails narrowly missing Elphias' prone form as they flicked back and forth.

Remus nodded his head in either thanks or dismissal, George wasn't sure which, then stepped slightly into the woods, indicating the two other men follow. As soon as they were out of sight, the younger Weasley pulled out two pieces of flesh colored string and handed one to an eager Tonks.

"Leaving me out after all I did," she huffed under her breath as she shoved the Extendible Ear in. The devices stretched out, straining to catch the hushed discourse.

"Did that seem a bit easy to any of you?" Remus muttered, voice barely audible and mouth scarcely moving.

"Too easy!?" exclaimed Tonks, on the verge of leaping out of the car. "You call that easy? Listen, buster-"

"He can't hear you, Tonks, remember?" George said hurriedly, afraid he's miss the rest.

"Can't really say, we didn't have the hard part," Kingsley answered, just as silently. "It seemed very odd, though. There should have been alarms, lackeys playing guard. It was an almost ridiculously simple mission. I can't remember the last time a mission went without a hitch-"

"Never has been one," Remus responded. "Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong; and even if nothing can go wrong, something still will. Murphy's Law. Frankly, I expected them to attack Tonks, and that I'd have to step in. No offense, Charlie, but I thought we'd have to forget the dragons and force our way out of there. We shouldn't have even been able to get as close as we did without a fight in the first place. There was something off about the whole operation. They wanted us to get Elphias out."

"What makes you think that?" Charlie questioned.

Remus began to tick off points on his fingers. "The Macnair I knew at school would have blasted Tonks without hesitation unless under orders not to do so. Wilkes had the fastest draw I've ever seen- with the possible exception of Jenny on a good day- yet he fumbled his wand. I don't care how long he was in Azkaban, there's no way in hell he shouldn't have been able to fire a curse at me while I was pulling myself up. None of them had masks on- when have we known Death Eaters to openly flaunt their identities? There were no sentries, no protective charms, no lackeys to carry out the orders of the big guns." A strain of disbelief entered his voice here. "We were able to bring a private base of Voldemort's Inner Circle down with plants. Plants. There should have been heavy charms to prevent that, and it wasn't even Unplottable. It took me scarcely a second to make it show up on a map. I expected much more resistance. It's quite possible we could have gotten Doge out under heavy circumstances; Dumbledore did pick a decent team. But no one's as lucky as we just were."

Kingsley looked unhappy, but hardly surprised. "You're right. They wanted us to take him."

"Not the dragons, though. There were heavy sealing charms around the basement where the dragons were kept, though," Charlie pointed out. "Kingsley had to use fire to break through. No way they could have anticipated that. I agree it might have been a set up, but I doubt the dragons were part of the plan."

The solemn black man nodded at this. "I had to clear a lot of ground before we could even get close. Without Charlie, I wouldn't even have known they were there. Their squeals sounded like a squirrel to me. They couldn't have known he'd be with us, so I'd say the dragons are in the clear. One of us should get them home."

Lupin paused, furrowing his brow in thought. "I'm worried about how they were obtained in the first place. I doubt these are the only ones, either."

"They're still nursing," the redheaded expert informed him. "If Voldemort took them, he would have taken their mother as well, and likely more siblings. The wizard clan MacFusty cares for Hebrideans normally. It's almost definite there's been an attack on them in the Hebrides. If we haven't heard of it..." Charlie left the thought unsaid, but it hung in the air. If no one had reported an attack, it was unlikely any had lived through it.

Remus groaned. "Just what we need. Charlie, I'll give you leave to take them back and investigate." He hoped he wasn't sending the young man to a traumatizing site full of death, but he'd seen plenty of that himself. Even if there hadn't been an attack, there would be plenty more of that ilk in the near future. Sooner or later, like it or not, they'd all be used to it. He turned to Kingsley. "It's important we learn why they let us have Elphias back. It's possible they could have already gotten the information out of him, but he really couldn't have told them was our names. Headquarters is under the Fidelius," at least, he hoped it was still working, what with Jenny able to see it, "and only Dumbledore knows anything but immediate plans. Why they would send him back is a mystery. We'll have to have him tested for the Polyjuice Potion, Imperius Curse, the works. We can't let him anywhere near headquarters, or say anything important within his line of hearing."

Quietly, Charlie said, "It is, of course, a possibility that Elphias is a spy, and his kidnapping a ruse to deliver information."

Remus blinked, then rubbed his eyes. "Too complex, sounds like something out of a Muggle book. Evil tends to be clever, with plans that are elusive but simple. Voldemort must have some ulterior motivation. Oh, and something else is bothering me. How likely is it that even Voldemort could persuade some of his smartest Death Eaters to act dumb?"

"You're saying it wasn't them?" Kingsley said impatiently. He preferred blunt, clear facts, not all this obscurity.

The werewolf shrugged. "It strikes me as unlikely. If they were others, perhaps recruits, using the Polyjuice, that would mean either Snape failed to mention that to us, a notion I don't even want to consider, or that Voldemort does not trust him and has obtained another Potions master, which could be even more disastrous. There are other methods, obviously, but I really don't like some of the other theories playing in my head, like the one that Voldemort could have in his employ a good handful of Metamorphamagi."

"Avery," suggested Kingsley wisely.

Remus' head snapped up. "Don't like that notion at all, but it rings true."

"Go back a bit?" Charlie begged, bewildered.

"A wizard in the same year as your father," Kingsley explained. "A bit ahead of me. Not of the caliber of most of the others, but very devoted to the Dark Arts. He was quite good at several types of Charms..."

"Befuddlement, Illusion, and Confounding?" Charlie suggested, the pieces clicking.

"It's quite likely many of the Death Eaters we encountered weren't who they seemed to be," Remus confirmed. "A shoddy job at imitating them, perhaps, but we bought it, it seems. Macnair was probably real, since he opened the door, but none of the others touched anything solid. If Avery's gotten powerful enough to imitate that many..." he shuddered.

"Why should that scare him?" George whispered to Tonks.

"Beats the bloody hell out of me." Her hair had changed to a flaming red at the news they weren't real, and her naturally blue eyes seemed to have a flicker of crimson in them. The prankster determined she was either extremely embarrassed or incredibly angry, and he was leaning towards the latter. He returned to listening. Charlie had apparently asked a similar question.

"Avery's power is lent to him by Voldemort," Remus explained. "If he's stronger, so is his master. In the height of his first reign of terror, Avery was able to produce mass delusions- exceptionally dangerous and also revealing to the Muggle community. If he was able to maintain that, he was probably right within the house, and, not being the model of intelligence, he may even have been uncertain of Tonks was who she said she was or if she was working with us. What bothers me the most, though, is that they'd go to all that trouble to have us take Elphias back, thinking we'd rescued him. They wanted us to have complete faith in him- oh, shit!" Remus swore, turning around. "We left him alone with George and Tonks!" The three swiveled, racing backward.

George and Tonks whipped the Extendible Ears off and cast sidelong glances at the sleeping, elderly figure. "He'll kill us. He'll kill us all," George said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Honestly!" he added, in a perfect imitation of Hermione Granger.

The three adults glanced sheepishly about as they came plummeting out, wands raised. Tonks, her hair a sheet of silver, gave them a contemptuous, superior look.

"All right, they probably didn't let us have him to attack us," Remus conceded quietly. "We'll have to work on why later."

"Tonks," said Kingsley, adopting his on the job voice, booming and severe. Almost unconsciously, Tonks sat up straighter and jumped to attention. "Among the Death Eaters, was there a man, quite small and thin, with an unhealthy look about him and a permanently running nose?"

She frowned. "Yeah, but I thought he was Rodolphus Lestrange..." Realizing who he must be but not wishing to give her eavesdropping away, she added bitterly, "I should have known darling Auntie Trixie wouldn't call her husband sweetheart."

"It was a man named Avery," Kingsley told her calmly. "I'll explain some time. You did good work today, Nymphadora."

She scowled, not bothering to mention that she hardly considered it good work. "Don't call me that."

"I'll be taking Elphias to St. Mungo's," Kingsley announced, knowing he didn't need to clear it with Remus. There were ways there to determine if Elphias was under the influence of anything, and if so, what it was. He winced slightly as he added what he thought was best, "In the car."

"Long drive," George commented sympathetically. "If you want, I'm sure I could make it fly-"

"And force me to report you to your father's department? I don't think so, Mr. Weasley." George cringed other the Auror's withering stare.

"Yeah, I'll be taking the dragons," said Charlie, turning slightly pale. "If Mum asks, I'll be back by dinner, kiddo." He ruffled his brother's hair.

"We'll be Apparating back," Remus said, his calm restored. "Better walk a ways. Oh, and George, next time you wish to be included in the conversation, simply ask before resorting to your products." While the eavesdroppers gaped at him, he began to pace along the edge of the trees, heading a safe distance away from the car.

Remus made them Apparate several times, fearing the spell could be traced. When he finally determined it was safe to head for headquarters, he chose to have them reappear in different places ranging up to seven blocks away. By the time all three entered 12 Grimmauld Place, one was bored, another grumpy, and the last anxious. While it seemed a bit odd, an easy mission unnerved unshakable Remus far more than a difficult one. Even in the Marauder days, an easy escape from a teacher usually boded far worse than a close call- an easy escape indicated the professor planned to catch them doing something worse. They'd learned early on never to assume your enemy is simply dumb. If you do, they catch you off guard with the trick up their sleeve. Lupin'd heard from Dumbledore that Harry had learned a similar lesson in his second year, when the seemingly idiotic Lockhart proved a rather conniving glory hound, willing to do anything for his reputation's sake. It was far better, Remus thought, to overestimate your enemy than it is to underestimate him. He needed to make his report to Dumbledore as soon as possible.

Tonks, in a sulky mood, headed off to the kitchen. Lupin pounded up the stairs, hoping Albus hadn't left yet. George trailed him, an expression vaguely like that of a puppy dog deprived of its favorite toy on his face. Remus had no real idea what was eating him, but he'd bet it had something to do with the fact that their victory, which George had been so proud of, had turned out to be an empty one.

Fred was crouched against the door that led to the den of Sirius' father, ear firmly up against it. "Shhh!" he hissed as they came near, then he took in who they were. "Oy, George, I need the Extendible Ears you took!" George, perking up, dove into his bag and in seconds flat came up with a mess of the things. He tossed one to Remus, who tried to resist the temptation.

"We shouldn't listen in-" he began.

"Damned fool, I knew you were going to say that," came Jenny's infuriated voice.

Lupin, without hesitation, slipped the squirmy string into his ear, feeling it wriggle within and stretch outward. Suddenly, he found himself able to hear within as if from an echo as the Weasley's prized product slipped slightly under the door. An Imperturbable Charm must have been placed on the door, but Jenny's voice was clear enough to hear. Dumbledore must have been slightly farther away, not to mention quieter, for his words cannot be heard.

"Damned arrogant ignorant old fool," she emphasized, ranting.

A pause, a slight murmur.

"Then you should have thought harder!" she roared.

Dumbledore's answer wasn't heard, but her next response made it apparent.

"Don't tell me to calm down! I have no reason to calm down!"

A forceful sound.

"You're the one who told me to leave!"

Lupin knew that wasn't exactly accurate.

"Well, it was close enough! You took away all reason for me to stay. I was right, and I don't even get an apology!"

Albus' calm voice rippled, like a breeze racing through treetops.

"I was not in love with him!...Well, not at the time!...James would have done the same!"

Remus felt a pang, knowing it was true, and that he hadn't done a thing to help Sirius, or had any faith in his friend.

"You gave evidence against him- if you hadn't, they might have listened to me. A trial, Albus, he deserved a trial," Jenny shouted, old anger rushing through her tone.

George and Fred looked at each other, amazed anyone could talk to Albus Dumbledore like that. As much as they might rag on the headmaster and his staff, they had a deep respect for the old man and couldn't believe that their latest acquaintance didn't.

"You sure as hell were wrong!" she snapped, more under control after her uncle's lastest response. She paused to listen, and Lupin could practically see the way she cocked her head, as she always had when considering Sirius' side in one of their many, many arguments.

"Of course, I'm not responsible enough, not trustworthy, needing protection," she sneered, and Remus flinched, considering who she was addressing. "James and Lily were old enough to be married, to be parents, and yet you refused to allow me the right they'd requested for me. Had it been anyone else, anyone else but your relative, you wouldn't have done it. You didn't have the right. No I didn't want- but - to give him to that...that...harpy and her husband to raise! James would have rolled over in his grave! You didn't even consult me, never even considered what they would have wanted..." She stopped mid sentence, interrupted.

"Selfish! I'm being selfish! Safety or not, ask the kid what he would have wanted, he'd be better off growing up under Mad-Eye's care- yes, I'm aware Alastor would never have agreed to that, and I do not find it as amusing as you seem to!"

She let out an enraged groan. "No, I do not want a lemon drop, Uncle Albus! Just because my father liked them doesn't mean I do!"

Dumbledore's calming voice could just faintly be caught, practically inaudible.

"My parents have nothing to do with this! I perfectly understand that they knew what they were getting into. I know all that, Uncle Albus- I don't blame you for that, I blame you for everything else!"

Remus rubbed his head. This was not going well.

"What else?" she sputtered. "What do you mean, 'what else?' You play with fate, Albus, you tinker with the chords. And you're so respected, so wise, so great, benign, yadda, yadda, yadda, I've heard it all. You've become so caught up in your own reputation that-" she caught her breath as her famous relative interrupted once more. "You are no more invulnerable than the next person. Right, you're the 'only one he ever feared', but because he was a boy! You defeated Grindewald, you were head of Gryffindor house, respected, admired, next in line for headmaster; he was a foolish, deadly boy messing with Dark magic for a dark purpose- and you had caught on. You intimidated him, and what one fears as a child carries over to an adult! I've seen it in my colleagues and I've seen it in myself. And one day, you're just going to be an old man, losing power, and on that day, He's going to be there! I've seen all sorts of bloody stuff over the past few years, and you know, I get a lot now I didn't get back then. I've learned that in some cases the end justifies the means, and I know you're trying to do the right thing. I think you know a lot more than you let on, of how it'll end, and I'd give it you had the faintest of inklings that what you were doing, KEEPING HIM LOCKED UP, was WRONG- and a part of you HAD to know what it would lead to! How could you not- you're the great Albus Dumbledore, aren't you? You KNEW! You knew all our weaknesses, the same way you know Voldemort's, and Sirius' was obvious to you from the moment he took off that Sorting Hat! After all he went through- NO thanks to YOU- you had to have known what his restlessness would do to him! You could have let him do something, you made him useless, and I'm sure you can justify that- I'd even bet you've foreseen how some good will come of this, I bet it's got something to do with your PLAN, your means of bringing Voldemort down for good. Guess what? Taking him down's easy. And you know that, boy do you know that. But it's the cost, isn't it? That's what keeps you from doing it, keeps me from doing it. The cost- and you're pushing for Potter to pay it, the same way you pushed James, though then I don't think you even realized it. You didn't intend for James to be tempted, but he was, anyway, and I know he beat it, he did. And HE BLOODY WELL DIED DOING IT, didn't he?!?!!"

"What is she on about?" Fred whispered to Remus, his lightly freckled face pure white.

Remus wasn't paying attention, but after Fred nudged him a third time he answered. Eyes distant, he answered, "To defeat great evil, we risk becoming it ourselves. When it comes down to kill or be killed. James, perhaps, could have defeated Voldemort when he came for them- but to do so, he'd have had to use immensely powerful Dark Arts. The same could be said for many among us... But we'd emerge from the duel worse than he ever was. The Order, were we to cast aside our morals, could perhaps rid the earth of him...but we'd be left with twenty more in his place. The cycle of revolution, and- quiet!" He hushed himself and the boys, hearing pacing footsteps within as Albus apparently finished responding.

Jenny's murmurs could be heard answering him for quite a while, but nothing could distinctly made out. He caught the words 'Lily', and his own name, followed by what seemed to be quite a spiel regarding Sirius. Then he caught the word 'prophecy' and hoped she wouldn't start quoting it within hearing range of the twins- they'd have a field day with it, from Trelawney, no less. They'd never let Harry alone about it- though it was quite possible he underestimated them, and that they might never say a word about it to a living soul.

Her voice finally grew loud enough for the Extendible Ears to pick it up again. "It's unfair, terribly unfair," she choked out, sounding upset (well, who wouldn't?). "We're not the bloody Light Brigade, for Merlin's sake! You should tell us your plans, you can't keep us in the dark! Especially Harry...Yes, I do know that I haven't even met the boy...Hell, no! I want to avoid that for as long as possible, thanks! But if you'd just tell us, it would spare so much grief, everything- well, I suppose it's possible to see it that way, but we can take on some of that burden too!"

Dumbledore's tone sounded as if he was quoting something.

"I never liked that story," she snapped, bitter again. "Yes, I'm very glad I don't know what happens before it happens, and it's perfectly understandable why you try not to-...oh, do be quiet! This has nothing to do with that, and everything to do with- that is positively it! I think you've made your point of view clear, and I sure as hell hope you see mine!"

A request, calm and fluent, Remus barely catching the final words, "from now on?".

"Yes, I can manage to be civil! I'm not a child- haven't been one for years, although you were never able to see that. Good night to you, _sir_!"

Remus, yanking the Extendible Ear out, backed up hurriedly, but not before Jenny flung the door open, bowling all three of them over with the heavy, crashing wood. She stormed out, stopping short when she saw them sprawled into the hall, Fred and George clutching one side of their heads. "I'm not even going to ask," she declared, suspicious, angry eyes landing on Remus. "Elphias?"

"On his way to St. Mungo's with Kingsley, but it was too easy. They let us have him," he said, rubbing his own forehead. He'd have a bruise by morning, the price he paid for listening in. More than ever, he wished they still had a Healer in the Order.

She shook her head, her brown tresses flying about. "Not in any way good. Albus is inside, if you want to speak to him." The corner of her mouth turned up slightly. "I can't say he's in the best of moods. I suppose you probably could have guessed that. I'm heading back to the Leaky Cauldron, if you need to find me, I rented a room there. Plus, if I know my organization, a parliament of owls should be storming me shortly, and we don't want them circling headquarters trying to find me. I'll be back tomorrow- Albus should give me an assignment then. I don't think he'll be holding me back anymore." She extended her hand to Remus, then pulled him up.

"I'll let you know if we can find out why Voldemort wanted us to have Elphias," he promised. Bemusedly, he glanced at Fred and George, who stumbled about, claiming blurry vision and tripping over themselves.

"You'll have to fill me in on the whole mission tomorrow," Jenny said, seeming more herself again.

"Oh, and Jenny?" Remus added.

Her eyes, so like and yet so different from Dumbledore's, flicked and held his.

"For future reference, when I say not to do anything stupid, that includes scolding and hurling insults at the currently most powerful wizard in the world," he said, letting his exasperation and disbelief seep into his words.

Her small, half smile briefly flashed at him. "I'll remember that."

Remembering it, he thought laughingly, wasn't the problem. He stepped inside, to speak to that same wizard.

Fred and George tailed Jenny down the hall, miraculously recovered from their head injuries.

"Oi, Jen!" called Fred, and she whirled at once. "Must be pretty mad, to talk to Dumbledore like that."

Her eyes twinkled. "Contrary to popular belief, Fred, I am not insane."

George rolled his eyes. "Other kind of mad, Jenny. Quite a temper you've got," he said, making tsking noises and wagging his figure like a scolding mother.

She shrugged and kept walking, allowing them to keep pace with her as she headed down the stairs. "Can't hang around the people I grew up with and not have one. Even Remus has got quite a temper, although it has got a slow burning fuse."

"What's wrong with killing Voldemort?" Fred asked suddenly. "You said something about it, and Moony tried to explain it, but I didn't get it. He was doing that professor-speak."

She stopped in her tracks. "There is nothing wrong with killing Voldemort," she informed him. "The problem is, it's not possible for someone like me, or Sirius Black, or James Potter, or even my uncle to just do the deed. He's too powerful. Albus seems certain Harry Potter can do it, but I dunno. See, to kill him, one would have to delve quite deeply into the Dark Arts. Albus Dumbledore is just as powerful as Voldemort, no question. Ask anyone, from Severus Snape to Minerva McGonnagell. The reason he can't just beat him is because Voldemort has powers Albus will never have."

The boys looked bewildered. "But if-" George began.

"Because he's too noble to use them," she finished gently. "Not to mention that he's getting old... in 1945, he beat Grindewald, who may very well have been more or less powerful- only those who were there know for sure. He did it without using those powers- I think. It's all very confusing, and muddled up. Simply put, we're defenders. Should we go on the offensive, kill mercilessly, cold-bloodedly, every step would take us swifter to darkness. We could start for the sake of good, but end up wielding the powers for evil. Voldemort would be gone, but in his place would be a hundred Darth Vaders."

They stared at her. "Er, run that by me again?" Fred suggested. "Dar- whats?"

"Muggle pop culture reference. Never mind," she said, sighing. "You aren't the types to have to worry about that."

"Gee, thanks," said George. "Thanks a lo-" he stopped mid-sarcasm, looking thoughtful. "Hey, you know what? I think I actually mean that."

"You're welcome."

She headed for the door, but a muttering, garbled sound came, and she paused, looking around. Fred and George looked at each other, comical pictures of dismay.

A house elf, wearing only a loincloth, clumped into the room, muttering obscenities and glaring at everyone.

Jenny turned, and her face became a mask, a person Fred and George didn't know. "Kreacher," she snarled, and pulled her wand faster than the eye could follow.


	13. Of the House of Black

The house elf looked up, no spark of recognition in his eyes. "How does the new mistress know my name?" he said, his snout like nose pointed towards her, mumbling audibly, "In the company of thieves and the blood traitor brats, yes, not fit to lick the boots of my mistress-"

"Why isn't he dead?" Jenny demanded, eyes flashing. "Shouldn't his head be up on that stupid wall by now?"

"Yes, put Kreacher's head on the wall," swiftly adding, "leaving no one to watch Mistress' beautiful house, they will kill it, making it filthy with the stink of traitors and-"

"Do shut up," Fred told him unkindly. "It's very, very likely she will otherwise blow off your head."

"Oh, no, I won't," said Jenny, her infuriated face gleaming with the light of battle. "I think I'd rather draw and quarter him. Do you know what that is, Kreacher? Well, it's right up your alley. The person, or elf, or traitorous, sniveling, sycophant, in your case, is dragged by broomstick close to the ground, then brought to a higher place, where he is hung until near death, brought down, sliced open- while his guts are being pulled out, beheaded, and then cut into itty bitty pieces. Wouldn't that be nice?" The whole time, she maintained a singsong quality to her voice, as if telling a story to a small child, or perhaps a baby who could understand the tone but not the words.

"Err, Jenny, you were saying, about darkness and all..?" George said nervously.

But her speech had its desired effect on Kreacher, and it was not, whatever the twins thought, for the purpose of terrifying the emaciated creature.

"You are speaking like my mistress," he hissed, dropping his voice and adding, "Doesn't deserve to talk like the lovely, this woman creature among the blood traitors, what is she, why is she in my mistresses house, doesn't deserve to set foot in the"

"Hey, I've heard Mrs. Black talk. She doesn't speak like that," Fred countered, indicating the sleeping portrait.

"Is that what that is?" Jenny said casually, intent on Kreacher, eyes scarcely flickering to the drawn curtains about it like those of a contemptuous cat. "He wasn't referring to her, anyways, were you, Kreacher? He's talking about Lestrange. Bellatrix. You do know, Kreacher, that I'm the one who sent her to Azkaban?" Her voice was light and airy, but her eyes hard and predatory.

"She trying to make him mad?" George asked, disbelieving.

"Actually, I think she is," responded Fred, having an epiphany. He made sure to be very, very quiet, so that the house elf did not overhear. "I think-I hope she won't attack him, but she'll try to get him to attack her, and then she can do whatever she likes, because then it's self- defense. House elves have a powerful brand of magic of their own- which reminds me, we should ask that elf who likes Harry to lend us a few charms for our products."

"Then mistress must be a powerful witch," said Kreacher calculatingly, mumbling, "Only could have bested Young Mistress with trickery and cheating, ugly blood traitor not deserving of any credit-"

"Oh, I'm not a blood traitor," said Jenny cheerily, "I'm a half- blood. And did I mention, I'm of relation to Albus Dumbledore?"

"The old one is wise," Kreacher said furiously, adding, "Muggle loving old dandy, might as well be a Mudblood himself, no good can come of that family, in the house of the Blacks, how dare they set foot here-"

"And you don't do anything about it," Jenny mocked, wand still fixedly pointing at his chest. She stepped forward, pointedly, bearing down on him. "You can't do anything about it. How disappointed your masters would be.."

"Kreacher is just a humble elf," he stated, furiously mumbling, "but Kreacher did do something about it, Kreacher ridded the house of the filth."

"Sirius was never filth," she retorted automatically. "Sniveling, creeping demon! You're the filth- you Gollum!"

Kreacher's eyes widened. He had been called that once before, and he forgot not one moment of his mistress' reign of the house. "You, that girl," he snarled.

"That's right," Jenny said, the last of her shattered self-control slipping. She raised her wand and mumbled a curse.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""( )""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

"Where are we, Alastor?" the young girl asked curiously, looking about and calling the man with her by the name she'd been told to call him.

He glanced behind his shoulder at her. "Why do you want to know?"

She shrugged, looking about the unfamiliar streets of this part of London. "I'm curious, I suppose."

"Curiosity kill-"

"Killed the cat, I know," she said exasperatedly. Her mother told her that practically every day of her life.

"And satisfaction brought it back," the already old man finished with a line she hadn't heard before, hopping on his peg leg. His magical eye hooked on her. "Curiosity is one of an Auror's best tools."

"What's the best?"

"Vigilance!" he roared, and the girl, just thirteen a week before, practically leaped into the air, and people around the street stopped in surprise.

"All right then," she said mildly. "What are we here to learn today?"

With the rule for magic over the summer temporarily disbanded under certain circumstances (pranks not among them, to the dismay of the Marauders), Jenny's mother had been able to arrange for her daughter to have a few brief courses over the summer with Alastor Moody for the sake of being prepared if Voldemort were to attack. (Not to mention that her mother was furious she hadn't received the best marks, or even very near, in Defense Against the Dark Arts in comparison, with say, Remus Lupin; nor satisfied with her extremely impressive results in Dueling Club). The old man had been taken with the child, though loathe to admit it at any cost, and excused his continuance to teach her to her aptitude in the art of dueling. While her power level was by no means extraordinary, as her relative's had been, and she may never be able to throw the most powerful curses imaginable, as perhaps the Evans girl might be with her grades in Charms, Jenny could be excellent with the fighting itself. Moody intended to insure the girl became an Auror, and hopefully that Potter boy, too, unless the boy was drawn off by the lure of the wizarding sport, which Moody had once frequented himself.

"Alastor?" the girl questioned, waiting for his answer to her original question.

He frowned, his heavy forehead wrinkling. "We are going to examine the enemy," he barked. "Dark forces soon to belong to Voldemort. We will examine them, unseen, from a distance, and I will show you what evil lurks in the world- what it is that we must be vigilant against. Never make the mistake of thinking all wizards are good! You know well as I, Slytherins are dangerous, serpentine-"

"But Professor Vonn Donn's your good friend," Jenny protested, referring to the head of Slytherin house and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who, although strict, was extremely fair.

"Exception that proves the rule," he said gruffly, squinting at her. "Besides, he was brought up all right, his mother was a Ravenclaw. It's the families that are dangerous, the old enemies of yore; the Malfoys, the Notts, the Blacks- people not to ever be trusted-"

"Not every one of them is bad," Philips argued, thinking of the laughing boy who went to school with her.

"Rotten to the core," he barked. "Granted, some of them get out- the Squibs, a few girls who marry out, but even in them, the stain is there. Comes from Slytherin himself, and I'd have some words to say of him if you weren't of such tender years- is your wand in your jeans pocket?!"

"Yes," she said warily.

"Out with it, now," he ordered fiercely. "Mad little witch, better wizards than you have lost buttocks that way!"

She giggled. "Vonn Donn always says the same thing during- is that why Kettleburn never sits down?" she demanded with sudden insight, wondering if Potter knew.

He ignored her, scanning the streets. "Swallow the camouflage potion, now, girl, we're at the house of the Blacks, and you don't want to be-"

"Number 12 Grimmauld Place?" she said with wonderment, her clear blue eyes wide as her tight braid swung behind her. "This is where the Blacks live? Orion and Walburga Black or the ones with the three girls?"

"The first," he muttered in response, reaching for his own potion. "Girl, what do you think you're doing?" he said in horror, looking up.

"Ringing the doorbell," she answered innocently, jogging up the steps. The houses next door were strangely silent, as if people feared to live there, and the house was intimidating large, although it was incredibly close to its fellows, only separated by a wall. Rather than a doorbell, there was a large knocker, engraved with many snakes.

"You're..- what- why- mad little duck!" he spluttered, staying firmly on the sidewalk.

"I'm just going to say hello to Sirius Black. He's a Gryffindor," she said firmly, quite content with herself. While not nearly as rebellious as many of her classmates, Jenny couldn't help but enjoy torturing her elders just the tiniest bit.

"Walking straight up to the lair of the serpent is about as un- vigilant as you can get!" Moody shouted.

Too late, she'd knocked. A squabbling came from within, the sound of young voices, one distinctly familiar. She grinned already. Jenny wasn't very good friends with Sirius, but the funny, always content boy made for excellent company, and she'd like Moody to see that he was just as good a Gryffindor as James, even if he wasn't from a family as upstanding as the Potters.

The door jerked open slowly, apparently sticking on a carpet too lush for its own good. Two boys stood there, one looking hopeful, the other sullen. Jenny started. She almost didn't recognize Sirius.

The color that usually dotted his face was absent, and he seemed paler than James in winter, as if he hadn't been out all summer. His hair looked the same, naturally, and the features were as always, but his manner, even in the way he stood, had utterly been transfigured as if by a spell. He had a discontent that hung tangibly about him, restlessness so intense it almost scared her. He slouched slightly; the swagger about his manner at Hogwarts completely vanished. His hair, which was really just an exceptionally dark brown, seemed even blacker than usual. And his eyes… Jenny had never before noticed how dark they were. She had always thought of them as a warm color, rather a brandy shade, but they seemed haunted now, with deeper depths that gave them the illusion of being the color of his name. Something about them, the life, the spark that danced about them continuously was missing, and in its absence, they seemed dead. This wasn't Sirius, the Marauder- this was Sirius _Black_. And she doubted she had ever seen someone her own age look so forlorn and vulnerable. Momentarily, there was something of hope about his eyes, and then it disappeared as his eyes met hers.

"I thought you were James," he said dully, although he was clearly making an effort to perk up.

"Are you expecting him?" she asked, rather wary of him. She felt a wave of regret, wondering why in the world she had rang the doorbell- she didn't even know Black all that well; it wasn't as if he were Gideon Prewett.

"No," he said, with the faintest hint of a sigh. "He's in Greece. Family vacation. I was invited along, but.." He shot a nasty glare backwards into the house.

Jenny looked down slightly, having been so intent on Sirius she had completely forgotten the boy next to him. She practically jumped. He was the mirror image of Sirius as she had met him on the train, with minor differences. He wasn't as tall as Sirius had been then, but was certainly school age, or nearly so. His eyes were a shade or so lighter, and seemed rather curious about her. There was an innocence in them she knew she would never see in Sirius, no matter how vulnerable he was at the time. The younger boy's nose was perhaps the merest smidge shorter, and he had hair of the exact same shade as his brother, for there was utterly no question that his brother he must be, yet he wore his slicked back, something Sirius would never do. It struck Jenny, something about the younger's frail and sullen appearance, that he had not done his own hair. It didn't seem so much slicked back by gel as recently wetted and pushed back, and compared to Sirius' slightly raggedy robes, torn as if he had recently been in mischief, the boy had pristine robes.

"I didn't know you had a brother," she said questioningly.

Sirius rubbed his head and blew his hair out of eyes. "Yeah, well, now you do."

The younger looked slightly offended, but stayed silent, staring up at Jenny mildly.

"Does he have a name?" Jenny prompted, already exasperated.

"Oh, right. Regulus." He made no attempt to introduce her, and leaned against the door frame, studying her intently. He'd grown a lot over the summer, and towered over her even more than before, although she was considerably tall. She hoped she still had some height on James. "So what are you doing here?" he asked finally, dark eyes flickering over her face.

She turned slightly to indicate Moody, but he wasn't visible. "Oh, drat, he's gone and swallowed the potion," she groaned.

"What?" said Sirius confusedly.

"Never mind. I was, er, in the neighborhood, and my mum told me this was your house, so I thought I'd come say hi while she's shopping."

"Shopping? In this neighborhood?" said Sirius in disbelief. "For what, a mace and chain?"

"Beats me," Jenny shrugged, looking over her shoulder for Mad-Eye. "How come you never mentioned you have a brother?"

Regulus' eyes flickered to Sirius, not looking happy. "You didn't tell her about me, either." It wasn't so much a question as a statement, a hurt accusation.

"She's a Gryffindor, too, short-stuff," said Sirius, not unkindly, as though that explained it all.

Regulus nodded solemnly, and something in his eyes changed when he looked back at Jenny, a slight twist to his small mouth. Clearly, anything related to the Black family was not to be discussed among Gryffindors- and, seeing the difference between Sirius here and there, she could guess why he seemed to want to pretend they didn't exist.

"How's your summer been?" she tried lamely.

A slight quirk appeared in the corner of his lip. "Hot," he answered.

She raised an eyebrow slightly.

"As in the flames of hell, which like to trail my mother about the house," he finished, a glint in his eyes.

Regulus frowned, turning. "Were you insulting Mother? _Again_?"

"No."

"Liar."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Merlin, tell me you won't snitch again."

Regulus considered, a slight pout on his face, debating between the praise his mother would offer him for any tidbit incriminating his brother in her eyes and the comradery Sirius occasionally held out. "What'll you give me?"

"For one little joke?" Sirius said disbelievingly. "Er, a piece of chocolate?"

"If you give me your Quidditch figurine from Potter, I won't mention the stash of stuff he's been sending you," Regulus said, rather threateningly, which was unusual, coming from so small a kid.

"Go take it." Sirius sounded distinctly unhappy.

His look-a-like scampered off, rushing up the stairs and nearly tripping over his too large robes.

"I cursed it anyway," said Black with a shrug. "I was thinking of anonymously sending it to Snape. He doesn't know about the real stash anyway, just the decoy. Now that the twerp's gone, what the hell are you really doing here, Philips?"

She gave him an exasperated look as she nimbly dodged the question. "Lily's the one who uses your surnames, Sirius, not me."

"Same difference," he responded, expression unaltered. "Jenny, then. What is it you want?"

"I told you, I am incredibly bored shopping with my mother. She wasn't too keen on the idea, but she's extremely fond of the Potters, and I just continued to emphasize you were James' best friend until she let me come," Jenny lied smoothly, words rolling easily off her tongue. "I figured you'd entertain me better than the makers of fine potion vials."

He looked at her rather suspiciously still, but her story wasn't far from believable.

Suddenly, a voice hissed in her ear, from an unseen figure. "Get yourself inside now, girl, you've come this far. It'll give me a chance to search their house. Into the lair, into the lair!"

Jenny looked discontent at this, but nodded her head slightly. Alastor was already her role model; she would not deny him anything. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" she demanded, taking on the tone of her dearest friend. Had she merely placed her hands on her hips, she would have looked quite like Lily when she's ever so slightly outraged.

Sirius looked backwards, face flushing with seeming embarrassment. It was impossible to determine if the source of embarrassment was her and how his family would react to her or the exact opposite. "Uh, yeah, come in. You're not planning on staying long, are you?" he said anxiously, ushering her in.

"Only a little while. I'm supposed to meet my mother in fifteen minutes," she reported, stepping into the foyer. She hoped that was enough time for Moody. Her eyes immediately widened as she took in her surroundings. It was larger than it appeared from outside, and it looked as if it belonged to the darkest of evils. Jenny had known the Blacks were a family of Dark wizards, but she hadn't quite anticipated this. Meticulously tidy and luxurious, the hall was dimly lit, giving it an eerie countenance. The only color in the room was the shade of the crimson carpet, disturbingly the exact color of blood as it poured from a weeping vein. Portraits of ancient relations lined the walls, looking down menacingly, some so like Sirius in their form while their expression was so unlike his more gentle visage (a word she never thought she would use in relation to Black) that goose bumps rose on her arms. Their intimidating features gazed at her all at once, whispering amongst themselves. Spaces were left on the walls, probably for the still living relatives. People rarely placed portraits of themselves on the walls while they had breath in their body; it was far too disturbing to have a picture, emulating oneself, wandering about and speaking just as oneself would. Small carvings of snakes lined the railing by the winding, twisting stairs, and more could be found on every frame, wall, and piece of furniture in the lavish building. Most terrifying of all, the heads of house elves, most with terribly gruesome death-locked expressions, lined one wall, eternally watching over those who had taken their lives. Involuntarily, she cringed. And she knew it hadn't been her Sirius was ashamed of, but his house and knowing him even only a little, his very last name.

"Ah," she said nervously.

"You can see why I want to get out of here. Should have seen how James reacted when I had him over last year, it was priceless," he laughed bitterly. "Oh, and Lupin, he was extremely disturbed by my father's trophy collection. Peter nearly ran out the door."

She looked at him sharply, wondering if he knew Lupin was a werewolf. She had a sinking feeling regarding the trophy case. "Trophies?"

Sirius pushed his hair off his face. It was getting a bit shaggier than he liked; he'd have to trim it soon. "Yeah. Trophies. Let's see, there's the yeti claw, container of vampire dust, essence of boggart from one he utterly decimated. Er, there's some doxy and pixie wings, his entire Potions selection, which contains all sort of things one wouldn't normally use. Oh, and two werewolf pelts. My father's not big on anything 'unpure'. Is unpure even a word?"

"Impure," she told him automatically, having picked up excellent vocabulary skills from Lily.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he said calmly, lounging against the staircase. He looked about carefully, then murmured a variation of a shielding spell. A golden glimmer suddenly incircled them, and he suddenly resembled himself, perhaps when truly intent on a subject in school (which wasn't often). In surprise, Jenny involuntarily took a step back, her foot catching slightly in the carpet.

"I've got about a minute before the portraits are able to listen in again, and they tell my mother everything. I haven't gotten a letter from James in two weeks; I think my mum's stopping them. Write to James, he might be home by now. Tell him to get me out of here!" he said rapidly, mouth barely moving. "Look, I'll have my window open for the next several nights, tell him I just need my broomstick. Once I'm gone, my parents won't care, but my mum seems to be getting this notion that she might want to send me to Durmstrang or something, but she's not too keen on it yet, so it's not like I need to run away, but I'm going nuts here-" The golden mist faded, and Sirius suddenly seemed languid and brooding once more.

A bit shaken but wearing a false air of calm, Jenny inquired, "Is every summer like this?"

"Oh, yeah," Sirius said in a morbid tone, staring up at the ceiling. "Same thing, every year. It's always a bit difficult." He began to pace, perhaps not even intentionally. "So, about that mutual friend of ours-"

"I was planning on writing him tonight," she said smoothly, although James wasn't really a friend and she certainly hadn't been planning on writing him ever, much less tonight.

For the first time, Sirius truly broke into one of his trademark grins. "You know what? Maybe I am glad you stopped by, Jenny, though I still don't believe why."

At that moment, a woman entered the room, looking quite annoyed when she saw Jenny. Jenny, who until fifth year had no real sense of the grace she would attain as a woman, had a tendency, at the absolute worst of times, to be a bit of a klutz. She rarely broke anything, but tended to drop her books with a resounding crash or knock over a glass of pumpkin juice during a meal. It was this, in fact, which had probably made her reflexes so impeccable in later life, having been forced to train herself to catch these these objects that just seemed to fall of their shelf, or desk, at the exact moment she walked by them (she'd never know it, but once she entered her fourth year, nearly all of these 'accidents' were thanks to the Marauders). Unfortunately, this was one of those moments when her temporary gangliness and lack of grace caught up with her. Her sneaker, caught firmly in the plush red rug, pulled her backward as she stepped forward in surprise. The end result was that Jenny went sprawling onto the carpet, in her very out of place Muggle dress, looking up with sheepishness and rubbing her sore chin at the spot where it had hit the floor. Her eyes met the cold, very black eyes of the haughty woman glaring down at her.

"What is this?" said the woman in a distasteful tone, speaking of Jenny as if she were a swine, covered in mud, who had wandered in for some reason incomprehensible to higher beings such as herself. At this point, Mrs. Black had yet to lose her looks in the degenerative manner displayed in the portrait that would one day hang in the same hall. They were fading, certainly, but were there all the same, and a few of her son's features could be found there, if one looked hard enough. She had the kind of beauty which not only lends to its possessor firmness and animosity, but to strike into others an instinctive recognition of those qualities. Her dark hair looked rich enough under the hood she had just put on, apparently heading out. Her robes were of a rich crimson, probably velvet, quite like the carpet in its texture and shade. Her nose was aquiline, like both her sons', yet straighter, with a symmetry about it and slightly indented nostrils which gave her a formidable countenance. Her eyes were terrible in a way, though, that none of her other features shared. They lacked the pity seen in every human eyes if one looked deep enough- if it was there, it was buried past recovery. They were cold and contemptuous, an emotion which never left them, no matter who she was regarding. In them, one could see a flicker of what Sirius might have been, had he never met James Potter -perhaps, much more than a mere flicker. One can never be certain about such things.

Sirius was by no means anything less than clever, and he knew better than to mention Jenny's name- on either side of her family. "Marlene McKinnon, Mother," he said quickly, naming a girl in their class of a very old family, whom his mother disliked but did not hate as she did the Potters or the 'Muggle loving fool who ran Hogwarts'. "She was in the neighborhood, and she had a question about the summer homework. Right, Marlene?"

"Absolutely," she said, springing to her feet.

Mrs. Black looked her up and down, mouth curling into a sneer. She was very refined for the most part, or thought herself so, and acted thus except when sending her eldest son the many Howlers he received at school. "McKinnon, yes, of course. You'll be leaving soon?"

Jenny nodded fervently, and Sirius tried not to breathe a sigh of relief.

Mrs. Black turned, allowing them to relax, and then suddenly whirled. "How odd, though, that every member of the McKinnon family is covered in freckles, and you, miss, are not." The 'miss' was said mockingly, almost, and Jenny couldn't help but cringe as the woman swooped down on her. She turned to Sirius, for all her short stature a tower of rage. "How DARE you lie! Is this a Mudblood in our house? Do you consort with them now as well as your filthy Gryffindors? No good will come of you, mark my words. You'll come to a bad end, along with that-that- Potter, and his traitorous parents, and the half-blood, and all the other LOUSES of that house, letting them into my NOBLE household, dishonoring your forefathers! Thank Salazar for your brother, at least there is hope ONE Black heir may prove an asset to this family- don't ever let this Mudblood set foot in -"

"Excuse me," said Jenny very quietly. The woman continued on her rampage, her son meeting her gaze unflinchingly and looking on the verge of shouting something back, and Jenny had the distinct feeling this was an extremely mild rage. "Excuse me!" she repeated. Mrs. Black's sharply featured face swiveled to turn to her.

Jenny took a deep breath. "I am not a Mudblood!"

Mrs. Black's gaze did not alter in the slightest. "Then who, pray tell, are you, who comes in my house uninvited?"

Jenny stood up to her full height, which was shorter than Mrs. Black's, though not by much. Something in the woman's carriage gave her an additional height which made Jenny somewhat fearful, and yet again wishing she hadn't rang the doorbell. But Jenny had just as much heritage as the woman, and she'd seen her mother in action enough times to be able to imitate her on the briefest of notice. "Guineviere Maeve Morgana Dumbledore Philips, daughter of Juliet Cornelia Lorian Philips, who is the daughter of Elaine Excelsior Dumbledore, first cousin, thrice removed, of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, current headmaster of Hogwarts." All this was said in one breath, without stopping, and an air that both her so- called great-uncle and mother could call up at a moment's notice. The only thing that deterred it was that she nearly slipped on the carpet halfway through, but it went rather without notice.

Mrs. Black didn't bat an eye, but her expression did alter ever so slightly, having known Juliet Cornelia at school and not being overly fond of her or her offspring. Still, she was ever so slightly better than a Mudblood, being elevated from pond scum in her eyes to perhaps the level of a frog. "Very well, then, and why are you here?"

"To speak to Sirius," she said, slipping into a lie that was far more believable than the truth. "James Potter was worried about him, and asked me to see if he was all right since he didn't think you'd appreciate any of the boys dropping by. I'm sorry if that's a bother, but he sounded so worried, and my mother likes him an awful lot," which was the absolute truth, Mrs. Philips wanted nothing more than for her daughter to marry James Potter, "and she really wanted me to help him out, and I can't refuse my mother anything, I really can't."

Mrs. Black clapped her hands, barely acknowledging Jenny, but looking less displeased than before. "Kreacher will escort you out the back way," she said with emphasis. She didn't want the girl to be seen leaving her house; it was bad enough she'd entered it at all.

"Kreacher?" said Jenny doubtfully. And then the creature in question came into view, and she nearly leaped out of her skin.

It wasn't that she wasn't brave, but at the time she had no where near the talents she would one day possess, and something about the creature dreadfully unnerved her. When she was younger, her father had read to her from Tolkein's Lord of the Rings, partly to show her what Muggles thought wizards were like and partly to encourage a love of reading her mother had never shared with him. Although not her worst fear, the creature Gollum had always scared her, and she both pitied it and wanted to wring its scrawny little neck. In that moment, Kreacher's entrance from the shadows to the gloomy light caused her heart to skip a pace, bringing back old memories and the fears of early childhood that always lurk in the back of one's mind, no matter the age. Jenny managed to recoiling, but barely.

"Mistress," said the elf, with a bow. It was bent and shriveled, not the oldest house elf she'd clapped eyes on but the least tidy. It wore a tea towel, a shabby white, with the Black family crest unmistakably printed on it. Mrs. Black would tolerate nothing less or more from her servant.

"Take her out," the woman ordered, with a dainty, dismissive flick as she grabbed Sirius' shirt collar with the other.

"See ya," said Sirius, sounding bored. "Don't forget what I said about that homework."

She gave him the thumb's up, and trailed Kreacher out, casting her eyes about vainly for any sign of Alastor Moody.

"What business have you in the house of Black?" Kreacher rasped. He was not yet mad, nor prone to mumbling too often, but dutiful and obsessive all the same.

"Nothing, really."

"Then why do you vex my mistress?" he demanded. Mrs. Black's ringing shout suddenly rang out, screaming something at Sirius about his father being home soon and punishment.

"I don't vex her," said Jenny, mildly offended. "Listen, Gollumite, I just stopped by to talk to Sirius."

"Young Master Black is a bad, terrible boy who causes his mother grief," Kreacher said bitterly.

"You sound like Lily talking about James, Gollum-thingy," she said, in as bored a tone as she could muster. Figuring the elf would report everything back, she summoned every drop of her mother's blood that resided in her to manage the tone of a girl who was, on one side, at least, of noble pureblood lineage. She held her head loftily and tossed her hair, trying not to stare at the enormous knives that line the kitchen walls, seemingly for cooking, though she didn't even want to think about what a knife that size could be used for.

"Kreacher does not know of the people the girl speaks of, but Kreacher doubts he would think very highly of him. Company of Mudbloods and traitors, young master keeps."

"Exactly," she said, still in a superior tone. "Lily'd be the Muggle born, and James would be the Potter boy. Dead on, Goll."

Kreacher hissed. "This one would like the foolish, impure girl to not misuse a false name."

"Hey, nice vocabulary," she commented, as the elf snapped his fingers, causing the door to swing open and nearly hit her in the head. She moved just in time, sidling around the frame. "Bye, Gollum-thingy! Tell Sirius I'm sorry he has to live in this house with you; the stench must be unbearable!"

The curses of the house elf reached her ears as he slammed the door. She laughed, although it died in her mouth as a strong hand clamped down on her shoulder.

"Never do that again," Moody ordered gruffly. "Obedience is extremely important in the Auror's trade."

"Seems everything's a bit important in an Auror's trade."

"If everything isn't important, you're dead. Come along, girl, I want to see if I can muster up a raid on the Black house." His uneven eyes glinted dangerously. "Wouldn't I love to see the look on old Orion's face- girl, get that wand out of your pocket!"

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But she had set foot on the Black porch once more, for the briefest of moments, at a time when she was desperate enough to turn to anyone for help.

She pounded on the door, her tangled ringlets hanging down to her robes. Her eyes were red and puffy, but her tears long spent. Two weeks, it had been two weeks since she'd last seen her friends laughing and joking, happy at least. Two weeks since the attack on Godric's Hollow, two weeks since Lily and- no, she couldn't think about it. Not know.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Jenny breathed again.

A dark eye, framed by bags and wrinkles, peered out, just below Jenny's eye level. "What do you want!" a screechy voice demanded, not a question but a furious order to answer.

"Mrs. Black?" Jenny gasped out, voice hoarse and broken. She shoved her foot in the door, insuring the older woman didn't close it. "Please, you have to help me."

The woman flung the door open, apparently curious. Once formidable, she was now terrible, the image of the wicked old witch feared in every Muggle fairy tale. As the Black's fortune and prestige had faded, so had she. The wrinkles surrounding her once firm face were numerous and sagging, her dark, comtemptous eyes roving and slightly wild in their sheer animosity. Her cadaverous features were only emphasized by her nose, grown rather hooked in age and made more fearsome by the slight indents by its nostrils. Her hair had gone white, and hung in wisps from under a black shawl she wore draped over her. Her height had shriveled, and she looked quite unhealthy. She was four years from her death, though that went unknown at the time. Her awful gaze roved over Jenny's features, clearly not liking what they saw. Behind her, a small shape with large eyes lurked, the house elf ready to please his mistress.

"I'm-"

"I know who you are," Mrs. Black said coldly, in a tone that gave the young woman goosebumps. "Filthy half breed brat, you should be dead."

Jenny swallowed, her guilt over out living her friends making her half-think that was true. "Please, Mrs. Black, your son-"

"My only son is DEAD," the woman shouted, causing Jenny to wince.

"Sirius, you can't have forgotten Sirius, as much as you might like to! He couldn't have done it, he couldn't have!" she cried desperately, not even half sure that was true. Her eyes watched Mrs. Black's face, hoping, hoping the woman would confirm her faint, dying belief in the man she had loved once upon a time.

"Traitorous, Muggle loving scum, bane of my flesh," Mrs. Black gritted, nashing her rotting teeth, once pristine. "No son of mine, that one! He deserves Azkaban!"

"But if he was Muggle-loving, he wouldn't have done it! Please, you have influence still for a trial! You know he wouldn't have done it!"

"Better the world think him in service of a Dark Lord than what he was!" she grinded. "Better if he was! If he caused that Potter boy to die, than there may have been hope for him still!"

Jenny met the other woman's eyes, blinking hard. "Good-bye, Mrs. Black." She said nothing more, not caring to, and simply turned, and trotted down the steps, the woman's screeches following her for a long, long way.

""""""""""""""""'"""( )"""""""""""""""""""""""""  
"Suffoco!" she muttered, just loud enough for the twins to hear. They glanced at each other, horrified. The Choking Curse was one of the more powerful, less popular of the dueling charms, and one of several legal curses capable of killing, unless the other wizard managed to throw it off. But Kreacher was no wizard.

The elf's eyes widened as he desperately clutched his throat, his luminescent eyes bulging even wider. Jenny flicked her wand, blue eyes narrowed and remarkably cat-like, and Kreacher drifted into the air until he was just above her eye level.

"You don't deserve to live," she breathed, pacing forward. She paused then, and her gaze darted briefly over to the twins, and perhaps it was not them she really saw but friends, long dead. She stopped, impatiently, and snapped her wand downward. The elf fell to the floor, his old body looking like a corpse. Angry more at herself than the elf, she whirled around. She didn't see the elf raise his bony, emaciated fingers behind her back, a wicked gleam in his eye. Though he may have been ancient, he had some magic still.

Snap!

Jenny suddenly found herself thrown startlingly forward, feet off the ground and wand tucked in her robes, unable to stop herself as she shot clear across the room. Embarrassingly, she landed solidly on her bottom. For a moment, her face was dangerously dark and a crimson red, but then the color lightened and she laughed wildly. "Oh, bloody hell!" she said between fits of hysterical laughter, wiping near tears from her eyes. "If Fi- ha, even Remus ever found out about this..hahaha! Jeez, a house elf gets the better of me when I haven't been bested in..ahahahaha!"

Fred and George cracked up as well, though Fred murmured, "Rudensia " first, tying Kreacher up with thick ropes with one stuck in his mouth for good measure.

"I better get going," Jenny said, seeming more relaxed. She looked at Kreacher with disgust. "Do something evil to him, will ya? Oh, and give him to Tonks to manage; the others will be too soft on him."

Cocky grins appeared on their faces. "Ooo, icklelfiekins," George cackled, rubbing his hands together with sheer demonic glee.

Jenny sighed, rubbing the back of her neck as she stood up. No soft carpet was there to cushion her floor, just old, recently cleaned wood of a fine quality. She never thought she'd end up sprawled on this floor a second time. She really did not like this house. "I'm in room 13 at the Leaky Cauldron if you need to reach me. That's in the case of an emergency, not regarding elf torturing, or naming any of your products, or any stuff like that. Elsewise, I will come back and insure you are incabable of ever pranking anyone, ever again. And I can do it too," she threatened. Fred gulped, but George paid no attention, so busy was he lighting Kreacher's lowest rope on fire. "Bye, Jenny!" they called in unison as she stepped out the door into the gloomy, rainy day.

_ In the Hebrides, ten minutes previously_.

Charlie Weasley shook the rain out of his hair, which hung, soaked, about his face, like that of a dog. His short hair elongated quite a bit when soaked, emphasizing his resemblance to his oldest brother. He tried to make out the edges of the soaked, tattered map he had acquired several years previously, showing the location of every main dragon "farm" in Europe. The MacFusty clan's area was the largest, as well as the best hidden from peering Muggle eyes. He should be there, but.. He extended his hands blindly, groping in the air as if there were something there that could not be seen, which there probably was. Nothing.

"Damn!" he swore, punching his fist into the other hand's open palm. Exasperated, he kicked the ground, turning about a little. Head hanging, he turned, preparing to head back. Changing his mind, he turned about again, scuffing at the dirt. He couldn't go back. He eyed the squirming, tightly chained, enormous basket sitting on the ground nearby. He'd love to hear what Mum would say if he brought those two home- worse, what would Fred and George do to the baby dragons? No, he had to find their homestead.

A scent drifted past him, intriguing his sense of smell. His mind recognized the distinctive smell at once- smoke. Oh, no.

He told himself not to worry, it could just be some small dragons catching the grass on fire with their newly discovered ability to breathe fire. His instincts, however, told him otherwise. Charlie glanced about wildly, finally locating a haziness around a certain area of the pasture he stood in. Racing desperately towards it, he pulled out his wand.

"Aparecium!" he shouted, using the standard, simplest spell for revelation, whether the object in question was invisible ink or a dragon. Miraculously, it worked, and a terrible scene unfolded before his eyes. A large, barn-like building that had probably once been very practical appeared, dark smoke flowing from it in black clouds larger than those in the sky. He raced towards it, suddenly able to see numerous dragons wandering about madly, some perhaps grief-striken, others taken with new freedom. He'd have to reign them in. He saw destroyed nests, injured dragons, some of them permanently blinded, blood dripping from their once brilliant purple eyes. He gulped, looking down at the innocent basket bellow him, with the two baby dragons inside. Poor little things, they had little enough home to come back to. He was too late.

And then he saw a sight that made his blood run cold. Near the front of the building, charred shapes lay..distinctly human shapes. He barely restrained himself from retching, heading grimly toward the building, both hoping there would be survivors and hoping there would not be..for who knew what sort of condition they would be in. Charlie suddenly had a terrible, first-hand view of what they were fighting for, and knew, just as suddenly, that he would not be going back to Romania for a very long time.

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Joe was a pretty ordinary guy. He liked being a cop, preferred to call himself a bobby in the traditional fashion, actually. He liked being able to do some good, though he couldn't say he liked all the sights he saw. He had a nice wife, two kids, and he figured the pay was pretty good. He'd ended up with a decent partner; Benjamin was a swell guy, for a rookie. The kid still liked the wail of the siren more than he should, and he felt a bigger man carrying a gun, but he was a good sort, likely to grow out of it soon enough. It had been a typical night so far, only a few drunks and speeders to stop.

"Hey, boss," said Benjy, annoying his superior immensely. He refused to refer to the older officer by his name. "Stalled car up ahead."

Joe was a pretty quiet guy by nature. He nodded, seeing it himself. It was late now, but no very late- a while before the pubs emptied out, anyhow. He pulled over, stepped out of the car, and turned on his flashlight. The car was a rather rusty brown piece, but a convertible. He couldn't identify the make- in fact, all of the car's identifying features seemed customed not to be noticed. He could barely keep his eyes on the car. The front was dented, and it seemed the car wasn't actually stalled- it had crashed into the railing that ran along the left hand side of the road, denting it slightly.

"One passenger, plus the driver," Benjy reported in his official voice. "Passenger, male, Caucasian, approximately sixty years of age, unconscious, possibly intoxicated. Driver, black, male, approximately forty-odd-"

"Enough," Joe said, exasperated. He examined the driver, taking his pulse. He sniffed the air slightly, checked around for whiskey bottles. He slapped the guy's face lightly. "Hey, buddy, wake up." He pulled up, looking slightly worried. "Out cold. Actually seems asleep." He shined the light in the driver's face, lifted the eye lids and checked the pupils. He grimaced. "Wonder if he's narcoleptic. Sheez."

"Other chap's in the same state," Benjy reported, corn-fed face rather bland. "Narcolepsy isn't catching, chief. Don't know, but I think we should get this pair to a hospital."

Joe nodded, checking the driver's pockets. He came up with a leather pouch, rather like a wallet. He opened it up, looking for his license. Amazed, his eyes widened as several brilliant coins tumbled into his palm. "God damn!"

"Holy Mary mother of God," breathed Benjy. "Are those dubloons? These real, or just kid toys?"

Joe felt it, bit it and looked at the faint imprint his teeth left in the coin. "It's real! Sheez, what are these blokes mixed up with?"

Benjy, tinkering with the wallet, pulled out what looked like a liscense. "Auror? That got something to do with the Northern Lights?"

Joe snatched it from him. "Kingsely Shacklebolt, eh? Government employee, it seems, for the Ministry of...Magic!?" He dropped it as if it were a hot coal, but Benjy caught it, examining it with wide, fresh eyes.

"The little picture of the chap's blinking at me," he stated in disbelief. "Reckon it's some kind of hologram?"

"Dunno," said Joe nervously. "I say we get these chaps to a hospital, and get in touch with Scotland Yard. Damn, what a night," he muttered, scratching his head. Joe really wanted to go home and have an ale, right now. Benjy radioded in the incident, while Joe leaned against the car, shaken. He very much wished they'd never found this car. He sensed only trouble could come of it. And whatever was wrong with the blokes, he hoped the chaps were just drunk. Please, just drunk..


	14. The Mail Snidget

Fifteen rooms were available for rent on the top floor of the Leaky Cauldron, though there looked to be room only for about four. But in the wizarding world, appearances are always deceiving, and for a rather scrappy looking pub, the accommodations were quite nice, particularly if you had the cash to pay for it. Cash was one thing Jenny was certainly not lacking. Her bed was large and comfortable, probably the best in the house, the sheets possibly silk although an atrocious shade of bright purple. None of that allowed her to sleep any better.

Even during the Voldemort years, she'd had no trouble sleeping, but it was damn near close to impossible for her now. She'd trained it out of her system- all those years on stake outs, pulling all nighters, drinking Pepper Up Potions and lots of black coffee. Very few people in her line of business ever got a decent nights sleep. Sleep made one vulnerable.

And now, when all she really wanted was a good night's rest, when she'd insured the Leaky Cauldron's wards would hold up in the unlikely case of attack, the habit of wakefulness kept her from dozing off long into the night. Finally, in desperation, she threw off her covers and stormed over to her large wooden trunk, undoing the heavy metal clasp. She rummaged about, bleary with weariness, and eventually came up with a bag full of potion ingredients. It is a very dangerous thing to attempt to make a Dreamless Sleep potion with only a few of the ingredients neccessary, particularly a lack of liquids. Jenny didn't give a damn. She had once had a friend, who she'd met thirteen years ago, after leaving England, who'd been something of an expert in mixing culinary skills and magic. Jenny had learned enough to manage to whip up a relatively decent potion, although a lot were substitutes. Glancing at the blue vial she'd poured the murky, clumpy potion into, she tilted it back and drained it like a shot. She'd been forced to use an Ashwinder egg in place of Glumbumble treacle, which would mean she'd be in a terribly good mood tomorrow or the sleep might not be so dreamless- couldn't say she was too fond of either idea, Jenny had no reason to feel cheerful and she abhored the lack of control of nightmares. Anyway, it wouldn't kill her- well, it shouldn't.

Either way, it worked. Suddenly feeling her alertness slip and her eyes flicker, she slid under the warm, cozy covers, in the dark not even bothered by the horribly bright purple coloring of the sheets. And then the dreams came- but the Ashwinder egg, which was an ingredient in so many potions, including Love Potions- brought dreams rather than nightmares. Not that she was too fond of those either- hard to wake up from and find them false.

Thank Merlin, these phantasmagoric images were not of her Hogwarts years, or even of the more recent years, almost as painful. Childhood dreams of peace and protection, birthday cakes and her father's soothing, laughing voice. How she missed him, and her mother too. If only...

A familiar gentle buzzing, swift sounds like a swirling hummingbird, filled her ears. Pleasantly familiar, and yet not so. The switching, dodging, rapid little wings of the Golden Snitch. Where was it? What? Something soft and poofy brushed against her ear, and she reached to swat it away, eyes slowly opening to the world, rayed with the light of morning. She felt rejuvenated, but it still felt like she'd slept for five minutes rather than five hours. Weird noises sounding about her made her start and sit up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

"Cheep!" came a noise.

"Whooo," cried another.

Moans and wails came from all over.

A distinctly inhuman voice rang out over all the others, jolting her up and scrambling for her wand. "Oh what a beautiful morning," it warbled, not on any key, much less off one. "Oh what a beautiful day. I've got a beautiful feeling- Squawk!"

Jenny, not able to reach her wand and eyes still slightly closed (an after effect of her potion seemed to be bleariness), settled for a shoe to wack the culprit of the horrendous noise.

A chatter flew up. Finally freeing her senses and fully waking up, Jenny stepped out of bed, hair pressed flat on one side and mussed on the other, and her flannels slightly askew. She shool off her sleepiness, grabbed her wand, and confronted a flock of birds.

She'd expected a few owls. She'd even figured there'd be some unusual birds, from the noises. Jenny had by no means expected this.

She swore, loudly. The parrot, grasping a brown paper package tied with string, immediatly repeated it. It appeared ready to break into song again, so she cast a Silencing Spell on it swiftly and surveyed the scene with growing amusement.

Parliaments of owls lay about. The snow owls seemed to be packed into the bathroom, while barn owls had taken her dresser over entirely. Tiny Scops owls popped out of every drawer, their minute heads popping up and down. Several pecked each other in their flurry of excitement. Great Grays, enormous and dignified (some also exceptionally obese) hooted disdainfully at her, holding huge packages she had never seen before in her life. One of them seemed to have been turned an incredibly hot pink. Recalling that was Angie's daughter's favorite color, Jenny winced, realizing the little girl (the Brat, as Fitz not-so-fondly referred to her as) had stolen her mother's wand again. It had probably been a mistake to leave Cal there in hopes he would live out his days peacefully, Kate might have killed him by now; or, even worse in the cat's mind, shaved him. She reminded herself to write a letter inquiring about her old pet. Jenny had to duck as a Fwooper came swooping toward her head.

She'd never seen so many Fwoopers in her life! One of the lime birds had formed a nest on top of her trunk and seemed prepared to lay eggs. The yellow one who had divebombed her came back for another strike; she stunned it carelessly. They better all have properly reinforced Silencing Charm or there would be hell to pay. The Fwoopers' song was so annoying it drove the listener to insanity. A few Augeries floated about moarnfully, moaning pitifully, but not so loud as to suggest rain. Those were probably from Fitzs' contacts. One or two phoenixes drifted about as well, one quite old and near rebirth, and one, seemingly not even one just reborn but newly born, so excited seemed he with his ability to apparate about. Jenny hoped he wouldn't set the curtains on fire in his repetitive enthusiasm.

She noticed a few Jobberknolls as well, probably from America. The pink Great Gray had a look in its eye suggesting one particularly plump one might be its new meal. Well, she couldn't have a Jobberknoll dying here. There were also the birds recognizable from her Muggle contacts, who she was unwilling to give her cell phone number to, for fear of it ringing night and day, but who could not have owls or other magical birds conspiscously drifting about. From them, there was a group of cleverly auspicious caller pigeons, with notes wrapped about a leg. There were also several tropical looking birds, and the stupid singing parrot. All in all, there had to be well over three hundred and fifty birds- more than in the average post office.

Not to mention the one, highly irregular bird who had awoken her. Her mouth dropped slightly open at the sight of it. She'd only seen one in the San Diego Menagerie. They were so rare, she'd never thought to see one so close. Completely round, it looked so like a living emulation of its namesake that she just momentarily gazed at it in starstruck awe. It watched her warily with its glistening eyes, so like rubies, then playfully zipped about, its wings rotating and humming. To her eyes, it moved even faster than a snitch, no matter how well the magical ball could be designed. Boy, what James Potter would have done for a chance to try his skills against a Snidget!

Ignoring the others momentarily, she moved towards it, her blue orbs catching on the black envelope it carried. She rolled her eyes, unable to refrain from the childish gesture. Of course, who else but Doyle Fitzgerald was both bold enough and foolish enough to use the prized Golden Snidget, with penalties in some nations as high as death or lifelong imprisonment for its capture or injury, to send his bloody mail! The idiot. She hoped he hadn't gotten it illegally, but knowing him, that hope was unfounded.

She reached for the envelope, but the Snidget neatly darted out of her grasp. She could already tell, there was no way she could catch the bird. Even for James, this woul dhave taken a while- and while she had hotshot reflexes, she was no Seeker. Oh, Doyle'd find this very funny. Make her work for her letter. She had several choice words for him right now, but some part of her thought it as amusing as he certainly did. Well, if Harry was anything like his father, he could probably get it. Yeah, right, she thought to herself. Oh hello Harry, I'm your godmother, can you come over and catch a pesky little bird for me? That would go over wonderfully. Charlie Weasley was a Seeker, a brilliant one, she'd bet, but he'd gone off on some damned fool escapade, from what she'd gathered. Shaping up to be worthy of the old Order, he and his brothers were.

She squinted at the bird. It had probably been trained to not leave, once it found her- Fitz would have insured it at least wouldn't go flying wildly, and it wouldn't have even come this far if it wasn't well-behaved. It wouldn't be going anywhere, then. Fine, it would wait. She marched over and headed straight to the scroll sent by Angela Scott, carried by the pink owl.

It turned out to be a very long upbraiding from Angie for leaving her in charge, telling her she should have chosen Fitz, even though he'd have killed her, or even Roger ('on second thought, not Roger'), rather than leaving poor Angie. People wanted confirmation that S.A.L.A.M.A.D.E.R.'s current acting head and one of its co-founders hadn't just up and died, and that this wasn't some sort of cover-up on Angie's part in an attempt to ursurp power. (Single mom Angie, usurper of power? Please.)

Jenny, sighing, flicked her wand and cast a spell in Old English, hoping she'd gotten the words right. This archaic spell, supposedly, was one of Merlin's own inventions, and she'd never tried it before.

Owls hooted in displeasure as their letters bopped their way into the air, ripping themselves open, while packages, some of them enormous, floated jerkily up as well, their strings peeling off. The objects drifted about cheerily in a circle, bobbing alternately up and down as if on a merry-go-round while moving forward at the same time. Jenny stood in the center of the ring, scanning the passing items and muttering to herself. The letters had unfolded and were moving at a rythmic enough place that she could read their sender. The Snidget watched the whole affair with fascination, but never ceasing in its movement.

A letter, with some nice daisies tied to it, had the name Drew in his worried scrawl at the bottom. He was a good guy, Fitz probably'd called him and mentioned England (hopefully not Voldemort, Drew's witch fiancee had been part of the American Hit Squad sent to help who had been decimated by Voldemort's forces over sixteen years ago. The Seattle cop would insist on coming with an awful lot of guns and FBI agents with no clue what they were up against.) Drew had sort of a brotherly nature to him, although it hurt him a bit to work with her or any witch because they tended to remind him of the woman he'd loved. Drew, she would answer. People in her organization tended to have past tragedy. It was basically the equivalent of a volunteer firefighter squad for magical disasters, except they covered themselves up from both worlds. Few people had the inspiration, unless they wanted revenge or to prevent the same from happening to others, to do so with only the pay that basically fell into their laps. (For the more talented ones, that happened a lot).

"Er, the merpeople," she moaned, noting several letters, brought by owls, with names looking distinctly mermadish. Beryl, Pearl, Ophelia, Amphitrite, Triton, Neptune- all from Greek waters, with terrifyingly good voices, amazing looks, and commonly, just as amazingly large egos. Roger could handle them.

She couldn't even understand it when some of the names passing by she recognized as vampire allies. Then she realized one was a request to go on a date (ignore), one a serious plea for help from a friend (get in touch with agents in Romania), and the rest were Fitzs' team and her friends jibing her about going back to England after she'd sworn not to. (also ignore, but save to read later and laugh about).

The parrot and a few tropical birds with it were from all parts of South America, and her friends there. There were a few joshing remarks about sending her the parrot to deliver a letter, knowing it would drive her crazy. Clearly, they had not yet received word about her return to England, and had no idea that their letters would arrive at the same time as the rest. In her note to Angie, she'd forward the letter- along with the parrot- and have her answer him. Who knew, maybe Katie would actually like the singing bird.

The carrier pigeons were likewise just usual reports, from those few who knew of wizardry in the CIA, a couple Mounties, and the like. Nothing outstanding. The Jobberknells were much of the same, and carried several letters from a clearly harried Roger, a tear-stained one from his weepy wife, Miranda, and one from Dean, that oblivious kid she'd talked to on the phone, eagerly asking for a desription of 'that freaky snake Lord guy' since he wanted to design a video game. Bah.

Most of the packages seemed to be her own stuff- an enormous lot she'd accumulated over the years. She eyed it with dismay. Roger seemed to have seized his chance to clear out her werehouse. Drifting letters, in addition to the others, confirmed that several clever witches and wizards had managed to stop the larger percent of things from getting through, over Ireland or the Atlantic, depending. These letters informed her that he'd attempted to send a few cars, brooms, books, clothes, a few of the enormous treasures she'd recovered over the years and kept, and other huge things, some carried by hired deliverers by way of strapping them between broomsticks and slapping invisibility spells on them, others by flocks of the delivery birds. Jenny wished, for the millionth time, that S.A.L.A.M.A.N.D.E.R. wasn't volunteer, and that she could fire the guy.

Gifts had been delivered as well, from modern gadgets to a minute, antique sculpture. She actually laughed. Attempts to bribe her, still. Hadn't they learned any better by now? She'd send those back, of course.

When a letter signed 'Dmitri' flashed by, she flipped, snatching it from the air. Dmitri Dolohov, that is, an extremly elderly Russian who served as a sometime contact. He'd by the uncle of the Antonin Dolohov whom all the Order hated so passionately for taking away two of their finest, among his other crimes. She scanned it with dismay, not noticing the bopping chain begin to speed up and the letters and presents start to tear themselves apart.

_Guineviere Philips,  
Hope this finds you in good health. Need help, immediately. Tatiana has been taken from Siberia. Personal attendance preferable, if possible. Please, I beg you.  
- Dmitri  
_  
Her heart tore over the last lines of the simple, quick letter. The old man, weak handed, had probably dictated the letter, but the name signed was clearly his. Tatiana was his granddaughter, who was slightly...off mentally, along with being a sensationally powerful witch. Personal attendance wasn't possible, though, she had new, or rather, old responsibilities here...and as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't trust him. It could easily be a lure to get her out of England. The old man had proved trustworthy int he past, but Russian family loyalty bonds, particularly among wizards, prove terribly strong. She'd call Fitz- but he changed his number each week, she wouldn't have it till she read his letter.

She looked up, glancing around for the golden bird, and was horrified by what met her gaze. One of her letters was happily ripping itself apart, her books seemed to be attempting to eat each other, and a statue of the witch Athena was bashing into the Cauldron of Dian, and both seemed determined to smash the Pensieve into bits as it was caught between them. The petals of her daisies were peeling off one by one, as if playing the 'loves me, loves me not' game with themselves. The Fwoopers had decided this game looked fun, and were trying to snatch papers out of the ever rapider floating circle in order to rip them to shreds. Her silk bathrobe was trying to swallow her favorite jeans jacket, and her leather pants were dueling a pair of tee shirts. The more dignified birds looked on with horror, an Augery screeched as the pink Great Grey, missing the Jobberknell, bit its tail; in short, the room, already disastrous, had fallen into a state of utter and complete chaos. If she ever met Merlin in the afterlife, Jenny decided she'd give him a piece of her mind for sticking this spell into his book on magical theory. Until then, she'd settle for murdering Fiitz, particularly since the Snidget seemed to be taunting the other birds, drawing them into the fray.

Angered slightly, she lifted her wand and performed the flicking motion that ended all Old English spells. Had it not worked, Jenny might not have needed the Fwooper song to go mad, particularly since the part of her mind still under the influence of the previous night's potion was singing along with the scarlet parrot to some happy-go-lucky song she didn't recognize. Luckily, it did. Everything fell to the floor, and the birds, sheepish, stopped moving. Except, of course, the Snidget.

Jenny glared at the window intensely and gestured with her hand, as all impatient wizarding children learn to do. It flew open. She raised her wand, still acting childishly, and sent up a bang like a gun, a favorite trick of most eight-year olds "borrowing" an elder's wand. "Shoo!" she ordered, trying desperately to shake her pleasant mood and the side of her mind laughing hysterically. That, she knew, wasn't just the potion- that was her younger self, which she did not need invading her mind right now. To succeed, she'd needed to gain some level of ruthlessness, a tendency of relentlesness, which she balanced out with every other part of her character. Being back in England could not allow her to lose that edge. "Be gone!"

In a great flurry, the fumbling flock fled, packing through the window and struggling to escape all at once. When, after several minutes, only two birds remained- the Snidget and the parrot- and neither showed any intention of leaving. She slumped to the floor, still tired, exasperated, and now realizing she'd have to hire owls to deliver the messages she needed to. All her friends would be wondering why she didn't respond.

On second thought, she glanced at the unbudging parrot, squawking away contently. She'd send him with all her letters to Angie, and she could distribute the rest. The golden bird suddenly darted about her head, tempting her. Its red eyes were bright and not half so innocent as she'd expected. Fitz's influence, she was sure.

"Ugh," she groaned, rubbing her forehead. She'd kill that man, she'd kill him. He couldn't just send letters the normal way, no matter how important. She eyed the devilish Snidget. She wished she could just curse it, or cage it, but she was back in England now. The last thing she needed was some Ministry bozo, swooping down on her, suprised she wasn't dead and accusing her of animal cruelty, while the papers wrote their suspicions of how the most recent inmate of Azkaban had helped Black escape. No, she couldn't curse it, there were magical ways of monitoring injury done to endangered beasts- she'd been through that obstacle with the whole yeti disaster.

But, it could be caught, if she was careful and didn't squeeze too tightly. That didn't really harm it- particularly if it was done right. And hey, she'd never been half bad at any position in Quidditch. A gleam alit in her eye, the gleam of battle. She stood nonchalantly, allowing the Snidget to attempt to taunt her again and move closer. Sidling carefully toward it, she took one stealthy step and sprang into the air with all her speed and strength, her brilliant duelist reflexes straining to reach it. For a moment, she thought...

She landed poorly, grasping air, half on the bed, half falling off it. The Snidget made a funny noise. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn it was cackling.

"Thought you were supposed to be peace-loving," she remarked, rubbing her head where it hit the bedpost. She drew her wand. "Accio," she rapped out, but the bird was fast enough to dodge the summoning charm, repeatedly, and other things, namely, her trunk, came flying towards her in its place. Jenny dropped to the floor as it crashed into the wall and shot a death glare at the birdie.

How was it, she marveled, that she could best yeti, hordes of bloodthirsty (read: evil) vampire hordes, Death Eaters by the dozen, and even dodge the Weasley twin's falling water pellet from the doorway; yet find herself humiliated by first a house elf, in front of those same twins, and now, worst of all, by a stupid little bird sent by her half-crazy, on again, off again boyfriend? Ah, the mysteries of life. Jenny stood, fire in her eyes. That was it. Mission or not, she was getting Charlie Weasley. A Seeker for the Snidget. Fitting. James would be terribly jealous.

Switching clothes to one of the more stylish, navy blue robes that had just arrived among her clothes, she brushed her hair carelessly, turned to give the Snidget the same sort of warning look she would give a small child, and rushed out the door, grabbing a bag full of Galleons (also just arrived). Anyone who tried to rob her would be in for a hell of a lot more than he bargained for, so she didn't worry about it.

Jenny swooped into the bar five seconds later at exactly quarter to ten, and froze at the sight that met her there.

A slightly drunken group of young men, one or two women among them as well, were swaying back and forth, filled with excitement and youthful enthusiasm. All in navy blue robes with two crossed golden bulrushes, they were singing raccously. Apparently, they were celebrating their victory of the previous night's Quidditch match, maybe even advancing. It was summer, so of course the League Cup would be going on- the small, not incredibly prestigious tournament between the teams of Ireland, England, Scotland, and Wales.. From those teams, almost all would go on to play for their country in the European Cup when it began again, and maybe, if they were good enough, the best players, sometimes even the whole time, would move on for the World Cup. She blinked. Of course the Leaky Cauldron was the popular spot for such celebrations. But a team of youthful Quidditch players showing up just when she needed a Seeker? Finally, the fates were on her side, even in this most minor of things.

"Beat back those Bludgers, boys," they roared in unison, "and chuck that Quaffle here. Don't let 'em hit our man, boys, and he'll catch that Snitch, no fear!"

"Will you shut up already?" roared a man trying to read the newspaper and have a cup of tea.

The young men went on singing with no recognition of him. "Fly like roaring thunder, men, for the glory of the dear old sport! For there ain't nothing, men, no nothing men like the GAME. FROM… QUEER.. .DITCH… MARSH!" they bellowed, then taking a deep breath and going into the next verse. "Oh, beat back those Bludgers boys, and chuck that Quaffle here!"

A group of younger men and one girl, probably second string, and not singing were clustered around one of their own, who looked incredibly, incredibly, drunk. The team had probably been gathered here since late last night, particularly judging from the ear plugs in Tom's ears as he beamed a gap-toothed smile at her from behind the bar.

She studied the team, trying to guess which would be the Seeker. Jenny paused, not even able to recognize the team. All the men ever in her life, from Dumbledore, to James, to Fred and George, would berate her for that. She knew they were one of the English teams (Fitz's obsession with the Kestrels, most of whom had played for Ireland in the cup, insured she remembered those teams). He'd kill her, of course, if he knew she was even planning on talking to the Seeker of a rival team.

Her eyes landed on the petite girl, slim in frame with lithe fingers, and an dark, Bludger shaped bruise on her left cheek. She was lifted onto the shoulders of a burly bloke in his midtwenties, probably a Beater, who was singing louder than any. Beaters gunned for the other team's Seeker, and Jenny felt certain that was her. Unfortunately, she appeared completely wasted. Useless, with her reflexes slowed, and besides, she'd never be able to pull her away from that lot.

Her blue eyes, rather steely at the moment, flicked towards second string. Most of them seemed relatively sober. She could only hope the guy slumped on the bar was not the reserve Seeker. With her brisk, military pace, Jenny reached the spot where their bar stools circled. For so early in the morning, the scene they were presenting was as if it were late at night. The singing players kept swaying, some of the athletes at the stools whooped; glasses were drained and guzzled, sandwiches wolfed down- the only girl of the six second stringers appeared not to be drinking at all, but rather exalting in a strawberry ice cream cone. The althlete gave the thumbs up to a tiny girl eating a vanilla cone whose mother walked in, surveyed the scene, and promptly returned to Diagon Alley. Customers, regulars here for their breakfast, looked excessively annoyed.

She tapped the girl, a fresh-faced young woman probably only a few years out of school, on the shoulder. Startled, the girl, likely a Chaser or Keeper from her Quaffle-shaped hair clip, whirled about. Second stringers in Quidditch usually were incredibly good, rookies who got playing time in a good percent of the games and were the future of the league.

"Hey," said Jenny, in a friendly manner. "Congratulations on your win."

"Thanks!" said the girl enthusiastically. "Did you see it?"

"Wish I had," Jenny said quickly. "Family obligations. Hey, do you think you could point out your reserve Seeker to me?"

"How come?" the girl asked suspiciously. A good thing, these days, to have a suspicious mind. Still, an annoyance.

Jenny eased into a flustered role. "Oh, my friend thought it would be funny to send me one of those little Scops owls, and the dratted thing won't give the letter up. It's very fast, and about Snitch sized, and when I saw your team here, I thought maybe one of your Seekers could help me. I can pay," she offered.

The girl glanced over at the first string Seeker and pulled a face. "Can tell why you're asking for our reserve. My friends can be a bit over enthusiastic in their debauchery. Hey, Jimmy!" she said, beckoning a friend over.

A sandy haired young man, possibly nearing twenty and sitting beside the slumped one, turned, his face harried. He had slightly big ears, was slightly gangly with a goofy grin, but the elements combined to give him a cute look. He spun around on the stool. "What? I'm sort of -" his hand shot out and stopped his friend from grabbing the proferred shot of vodka- "occupied."

"This woman wondered if you could catch a birdie for her. One of those bloody Scops."

"Oh, really?" said Jimmy, bemused. "People always send my mum those things. How I got started as a Seeker, actually.." He trailed off as his friend managed to grab the glass and drain it. Quickly, he pulled it away from him. "Man, you've had enough. C'mon, buddy, pull yourself together," he urged.

"Not so hard on him, Jim," the girl scolded.

Jenny studied the drunk boy. His dark hair fell into his face, and his eyes were extremely red. He started to say something, but it was so slurred it coul not be made out. "You should get him a Sobering Potion, or at least a Pepper-Up."

"They make sobering potions?" Jim asked, incredulous, almost letting his buddy slip to the floor.

"Well, not stores, but doesn't anyone know how to make them anymore?" Jenny asked, equally incredulous. "I suppose you could find one on Knockturn, but you don't want to head down there. Get him some coffee, at least."

Jimmy looked at her blankly. "Isn't that some Muggle drink?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Wizards drink it, too, Jim, get on top of things."

Jenny sighed. "Look, I'll whip something up for him, he clearly needs it." Much more than the singing squad, the guy was practically passed out. In the Muggle world, he wouldn't even be of drinking age- he looked what, nineteen?. "On top of that, I'll give you five Galleons if you just catch my bird, all right?"

Jimmy now studied her nervously, with caution. Anyone willing to offer that just to catch a bird was mad, and who knew what she'd put in that potion.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," she sighed, and reached into her robe pocket. Both Jimmy and the young woman tensed, expecting her to draw her wand. Instead, she just pulled out credentials and handed them to the youth.

He read it, mildly impressed. "You're an Auror? But this says your Irish, you don't sound Irish."

"I spent some time there, and got credited there," she told him impatiently as he handed it back to her. "Bring your friend. I've got a room rented upstairs." She trotted up again, waiting for him to follow. He hesitated a moment, flicked his wand and sent his friend floating, then ran up after her.

Jenny held the door open, allowing him to walk inside. His eyes widened as he took in the feather covered room, filled with shredded and unshredded letters and all sorts of packages.

Before the parrot could begin to sing, Jenny fired a Stunner at it. Good, the whole unnatural inner happiness thing had worn off. "Ignore that,"she said calmly. She followed his startled, amazed eyes. "Can you catch it?"

"T-t-that's not an owl," he stammered, stunned.

"Right. But it's kind of every Seeker's dream, isn't it? A real challenge, with a mind that can think for itself? The whole original deal? So...Can you catch it?"

"Where'd you get it?" he asked, almost trance like, as his blue gray eyes followed the bird. With his loss of concentration, his friend tumbled to the floor with a groan.

"Rich boss who likes to show off when he sends me letters. It's an important business letter," she lied, though the letter probably was quite important, Fitz rarely wrote letters.

"Uh-huh."

She put her hands on her hips, and looked him square in the eye iintimidatingly. "Are you suggesting you don't believe me?"

"No, ma'am," he responded at once. "Ah, that sobreity drink-"

"I'll handle it," she said tartly. "Can you catch it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Proceed, then," Jenny responded, smiling. "Don't worry about disturbing the furniture."

"Pity I don't have a broomstick on hand," the boy mumbled. Grabbing a chair, he moved it to the center of the room, watching her pull out some sort of package. "Hey, what's that?"

"Water," she answered calmly. "I'm going to tranfigure it into coffee, then enhance the coffee magically. Sobering Potions, they're incredibly effective." She pulled a face. "Worst things you've ever tasted, and you don't even want to know what they're made of. A friend of mine who used to be a Hit Wizard for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had to make them for his brother for a few weeks after he had a bloody breakup with his longtime girlfriend. Poor chap, couldn't taste a thing for weeks. Believe me, your buddy will much appreciate this over that."

"Sound experienced," he commented, right before he jumped off the chair vainly attempting to grab the Snidget. To its dismay, his jump proved sufficient enough for him to yank out several of the vain bird's tail feathers. It squawked indignantly at him.

"Yeah, a friend thought'd be funny to slip me a cup when I was absolutely sober. Hey, careful you don't hurt it. It's probably worth two of me," she informed him, stirring the recently changed coffee with motions with her wand above it.

From the position he'd landed, face down on the floor, he gasped, "Encouraging, that. Suppose that makes it worth ten of me?"

"Possibly twelve," she considered cheerfully. "I'd have to know your yearly income."

He scrambled up onto the bed, almost pinning the Snidget agianst the wall. With several bounces, Jimmy, who was probably quite good at his job, propelled himself against the room and landing on a table, almost knocking over a priceless Chinese talisman Jenny had spent ten months locating. From the table, he dropped into a reflexive roll and came up behind the now low- flying bird, which tilted and twisted and shot. He sprinted in circles, leaping and diving after the fast little pest. He scrambled after it, pushing over eveything in his path. The Snidget, bred with a centuries old fear of fast, skinny men, usually on broomsticks, who wanted to catch it, suddenly seemed rather terrified. Its fear slowed its reaction time, and once in a while the reserve Seeker's hands would brush its coat.

It swiveled its wings in fast little roations, dodging, and for a moment, lost its pursuer. It had scrambled into the pocket of the unconcious, mumbling Quidditch player who looked, even in sleep, terribly devastated. The sharp eyes of the second latest addition to the team, however, located it in no time flat, noticing the practically invisible tip of its long beak poking out of the pocket. Realizing it had trapped itself, the Snidget struggled its way out of the cloth as the young man advanced rapidly on it. It was going to get away!

He leaped forward, taking completely off the ground arms outstretched, and managed to grasp the struggling, feathery ball gently in them, never feeling so satisfied in his life. For one moment, he experienced the sensation of being utterly horizontal and held up by nothing. Then gravity came into play, and still clutching the birdie, he fell plop on top of his pal, who awoke with a groan, clutching his head.

Jenny, having completed the coffee and taken the opportunity to jot down notes for her former subordinates on a napkin, rushed over, beaming. "You did it, kid, you did it! You must be something in the air."

"Actually," he said, scratching his head embaressedly with one hand as he offered the Golden Snidget with the other, "I'm not that swell in the air. Quick with my hands, slow on a broomstick. But my friends have been helping me- particularly him," Jimmy added, indicating his friend.

"Speak of the devil," she said, resisting the impulse to tear open the letter. She performed a swift Summoning charm, and the coffee mug zipped to her hand, not spilling a drop. She crouched down, bringing it to the half-awake boy's lips.

"May not be too pleased with us for doing this," Jim commented, as his friend swallowed slowly.

"Oh? Wanted to forget something, did he?"

"Better believe it," Jimmy said fervently.

"Girl trouble? Played poorly?" Jenny suggested, feeling it was something worse.

"No," said Jim nervously, bending down and continuing in a whisper. "Word came in at the end of the game late last night, a phoenix brought a letter for him, it'd been trying to locate him all day, that his parents had been...attacked the night, or early morning, rather, before. But we were in Northern Ireland, playing the Bats, which is a huge deal, and our schedule had been switched around, so the Ministry thought we were here, scrimaging. Idiot Ministry, should have just checked with the the Department of Magical Games and Sports instead of Law Enforcement. Hit Wizards were apparently looking for him all over the place, utter disaster...anyways, thank heavens Dumbledore sent that phoenix, even though it took even the bird a while to find Oliver. The news of the attack hadn't reached Ireland yet...ah, it was a bad way. Then Oliver rushed off, didn't come back for a while. When he returned, he was a wreck. His mum...You-Know-Who got her, and his dad...well, that tore poor Oliver up worst of all. He babbled something when he rushed in, said he didn't even recognize his own son, then hit the bottle and hasn't stopped since. We didn't know quite what to do, and as you can see, none of the older chaps are quite enough aware of what's going on to help at the moment." He sounded a bit bitter, and more than a little afraid, particularly as he whispered the appellation of the dreaded Dark wizard.

Jenny had stiffened, studying the awakening boy with considerable interest. Indeed, shortly before their arguement had began, her relative had, with infuriating calm, sent Fawkes out to try to find the unreachable son of the first of the attacked. "This is the Wood kid?"

"You heard, I guess," Jim said, sounding genuinely sorry for him.

"I'm a friend of the Weasley family."

"Oh, the twins? He talks about them all the time, them and little Harry Potter, and a load of girls; he was furious the twins wouldn't even talk to recruiters. Oliver loves talking about the time they won the school's Quidditch cup, he's always talking about strategies and stuff, dreamed of putting the whole team back together in the professional arena. He's incredible. Poor guy, he's such a nice bloke," Jimmy mumbled.

Jenny studied the boy intently. He had straight dark hair cropped short but not very, of nice brown shading, and was of medium height, even possibly tall. A stocky, dependable build and ruggedly good features gave him possibly good looks; whatever air he carried when he was in his right senses determined whether he was average or handsome. His eyes were pale brown, and slowly widening and seeming more alive each second. A sad cloud hung about him at the moment, and he struck her as the type to be very focused. She'd seen driven men before; he was one of them, and considering his occupation, he was probably driven by his sport. He was neither jovial nor bleak, and could have been deemed average, which she would have been likely to do; had he not, at that moment, blinked, gaining a sharpness in his eyes, and reached his hands up, grasping the cup himself, swallowing the rest of it completely of his own free will, though it probably tasted terrible

Oliver sat all the way up, gagged a bit, and rubbed the enhanced coffee off the side of his mouth. "That-" he said definitively, looking at the mug, "was absolutely the worst thing I've ever tasted."

"Alternative sounded worse," Jimmy told him, rather uncomfortable with his friend, who was his teammate but not incredibly close buddy.

"Worse than that?" He shook his head in disbelief. He glanced about confusedly from Jenny to Jim. "I've had some of Madam Pomfrey's most wretched inventions, and I canna say any of them topped that." He had a very pleasant Scottish accent, with a bit of a snap to it, even now. "Don't suppose I just got hit by a Bludger?"

"No."

"Pity. Who's this?"

"An Auror named- oh, blast it, it was something Phillipe wasn't it?"

"Jenny Philips," she corrected automatically, eyes scanning the Keeper as she stood.

He studied her curiously. "What's the squirmy thing she's holding?"

"Golden Snidget. I caught it," Jimmy added, rather proudly.

"A Snidget? No! Seriously? A- a real Snidget?"

Jenny opened her hands, allowing its little head to poke through.

Oliver fell back a bit, hand going to his head as he squinted, still a bit off. "Where did you get one of those? I mean, it isn't exactly like you can buy one at Magical Menagerie!"

"If you know where to look," Jenny said with a shrug. Of course, she didn't know where to look, but Fitz certainly did. Hopefully, he hadn't bought it on the black market.

"What was the name again?" he demanded.

"Jenny Philips."

"You checked out Quidditch through the Ages twenty-five years ago!" he jabbered. "Same handwriting as added in notes under Parkin's Pincer and Reverse Pass, very helpful to-"

"You know all this how?" she demanded, staring at him with an expression suggested he was mad.

"Spent the better part of two years memorizing it before I became Captain," he said matter-of-factly, incredibly quickly. "They came out with a new edition and got rid of the old one, which was covered in notes. I spent a long time figuring out whose handwriting was which, but it was very insightful, once I'd looked up and determined what position they played- course, hard to do when Fred kept setting my book on fire because he was too young to be ont he team yet and mad about it, but-"

She stopped his ramble. "Got it, I got it!" she said, feeling awful for him. His pain was all too obvious on his rather open face, and clearly he was clinging to the one thing that could distract him. "Fred Weasley, you mean?" she said, giving him more material.

"Yeah, he was on my team, very good Beater, probably best the school ever had, him and his brother George, started up a joke shop, the idiots, Wigtown gave them offers and I was trying to talk Puddlemere into it, but they made some joke about not wanting to be butchers and..." he ranted, on his feet and pacing a bit like a tiger in a cage. "Wait a second, how do you know them?"

"I used to baby-sit Bill and Charlie."

"No kidding! Bill's the older one, right? Charlie's great, but Harry- Potter, that is- he's even better, I'm sure." Wood's face was rather red.

"I should be getting back downstairs," Jimmy said quietly, looking at Wood with a mixture of pity and relief, that he wasn't in his place. "Oliver, do..."

"What?" said Wood, head snapping that way.

"Well, where are you going to go?"

The younger boy deflated entirely. He couldn't exactly go back to his house, and St. Mungo's, with the discussion that his father might have to be moved to the permanent ward and the acute knowledge that his mother was dead was what had sent him stumbling to the pub and his teammates in the first place. "Er..."

"Did I mention the Weasleys were attacked?" Jenny interrupted, as she tossed Jimmy a small bag that made tinkling noises.

"WHAT?" Wood roared, not meaning to grow so loud. "Them, too? What the- are they all right?"

"Bill was in a bad way, and Fred was a bit hurt, but they're both fine now," Jenny said, her compassion and genuity showing through her words. "Same night as your parents, we were in St. Mungo's, last I heard, Bill was still there. But if you didn't see him there, they might have pulled him out by now. It's possible he healed enough, those Weasleys are a hardy bunch."

"Yeah, they are," said Wood, whose eyes were conspiscously red and swollen.

Jimmy had examined the bag. "Ms. Philips, this is way too much!"

She waved him off. "I've got enough of it, kid. Keep it, buy a new broomstick, or whatever you want." She paused. "Just one thing. Tell me- your name, is it short for James?"

"Yeah," he answered, not seeing her point.

Jenny smiled slightly at him, a bit wistfully. "Well, do what it is you like, kid. Good look playing."

"Thanks. Oliver, see you soon."

Oliver nodded, head ducked. He rubbed his face a bit, then glanced up, looking awkward. "Listen, you think I could see Fred and George? I've been - well, meaning to write them, but, er-"

"Oliver," she began.

"Wood," he corrected automatically, finding it too strange for an adult to call him Oliver. Even Dumbledore had called him Wood, even Madam Hooch. His classmates and teammates called him Oliver.

"Sure, kid, Wood it is. Listen, you were team captain, right?"

"Absolutely," he said eagerly.

"So, strategies and stuff are your forte?"

Wood wasn't exactly modest. "I even designed some new plays, managed to put together the best team Hogwarts had seen in a few good years- can't say the weather was very accommodating to those plans all the time-"

"And you play Keeper?"

"How'd you-"

"Fred and George."

"Right, them. But-"

"Any good in school?"

"What?" he sputtered. "What does school have to do with anything?"

"Just how did you do in your classes?" she asked, eyeing him critcically.

"What are you on about?" he asked in complete confusion.

"If you could just answer-"

"Er, well, I was decent, though my teachers weren't too fond of me 'cause I usually spent more time at practice than doing homework, 'cept McGonagell, who knew enough to give me a break- great woman, her- and I got decent O.W.L.s?" he suggested, wondering exactly what this unknown woman was after.

"Best subject?"

"Transfiguration, obviously, with McGonagell-"

"Transfiguration?" she repeated, sounding slightly strangled, and looking at him oddly. "Did she give you a break or-"

"No, I think I was actually pretty good at it," he remarked, having never really bothered to actually think about his classes much, having achieved his goal of becoming a Quidditch player.

"And your strategies, did they work?"

He considered that; his own strategies tended to be a bunch of slightly overcomplicated- well, not nonsense, but stuff, he guessed, thinking of all his squiggly drawings and models of the field; which wasn't really so much the source of their success as practice. Finally, he answered honestly. "Sometimes?" he shrugged.

That did it, but she had to ask one thing more, althoguh she hated to. In this, she could not make a mistake. "If you had the chance to kill the people who attacked your parents, would you?"

Wood glowered. "What sort of question is that?"

She tossed her head. "When you're an Auror, it's the sort of question that it's important to know the answer to about coworkers."

His mind thinking, Coworkers?, he seriously debated the issue, still taken aback from the sudden switch from questions about his school days to this. "I, I don't know. I want to- I want to a lot- but I donno...do you mean in self defense or...not?"

"Either."

"Well, if I had to, maybe...But I don't think I could, even..." He'd gone from being in a relatively improving mood, if a confused one, to in a state of tumultous anguish.

"Good answer," she told him. "Look, I've got to read a letter, and then I think I should tell you a story. I have a notion about you, that I think should be followed up on. Look, how'd you like to room with Fred and George?"

He stared at her. "You serious?"

The old response she and her friends had learned to never, ever use, in front of Sirius or not. The joke was no use here, of course. "Completely. Their house was totalled, too, remember, and while they may be nuts..."

"Better them than the team," he said without hesitation. "I left my duffle in Ireland, so I've got absolutely nothing- not with the house gone- "

"They probably don't either, and just haven't realized it yet. You're a target, anyways, you ought to know. They wanted you, not just your parents."

"Me?" Wood croaked. "I mean, Mum's an Auro- was an Auror, I can understand that, but I'm a nobody, I'm just a second string-"

"Not for long, I hear you're good," she interupted. "You're not a nobody, you're of the last branch of the Woods, who are an old Gryffindor family. You're a friend, the former captain, of Harry Potter- I'm sure you understand the agenda there. There are plenty of reasons they could find to eliminate you. You'll have to insure your safety. I'll explain more in a minute." The Snidget squeaked, and she realized she might be gripping it too tightly. She thrust it toward him. "Here, hold this."

"Do you realize how valuable this bird is?" Wood said, voice mounting. "Like the early games, the originals to play the version of Quidditch we have today-"

"Yep," she answered. "And my contact finds it amusing to use it to deliver my mail. Charming. Give me a sec, I need to read what was so important he bothered to send a Snidget."

She tore open the black envelope, pulling out a creased piece of parchment written in Fitz's careless scrawl.

_Jenny-_

Look, I really am sorry about that friend of yours. Sorry if I was a bit short with you- oh, blast it, I'm not good at this. Ah, I managed to stop some of the stuff from Roger. I'm keeping the Jag, if you were damned fool enough to leave that beautiful machine in his incompetent care. Sorry in advance if the bird gives you trouble. It's sort of become part of the team in the past month or so, while you've been lazing in the lovely Venice and every other part of Italy. We picked it off up some idiot trying to sell it, proved to be a bit of a handful. I'm sick of writing in code, and who, besides us, would be foolish enough to try to stop a mail-Snidget, unless he wanted to risk harming the precious and find the entire population of Europe swooping down on him, which that Dark Lord of yours certainly does not. Send it back, it'll be safe on its own.  
Down to business- this information may prove extremely important- your Voldemort chappie is trying to recruit vampires. He's getting a lot in from Romania and the like, and Jenny, this isn't my sort. This is the type that feeds- you know. Even the regular sort's tempted. Some of these are quite old- if they feed on human blood long enough, you'll recall, it can extend their lifespan- but still spry and apparently youthful. You do not want to tangle with these gentleman. All indications suggest they're heading your way, if they come, so will we. Not letting you handle this alone- you say a damn word of protest, and I can't haven't quite come up with an adequate threat, but I'll do something, anyways.  
UnSeelie court rebellion going on, may hold us up till the Seelie court has got it under control. How is it wizards still don't know about these fools? Tuatha de Danaan, my ass, these buggers are annoying. Don't worry, no talk of reinstating the tithe yet. No Tam Lin disasters on my watch, thanks. A few of the spirit bards thought'd be funny to conjour some wraiths- mind the key difference between ghosts and wraiths. Have had some very unpleasant times sending them back; Taliesin and his crew have been reprimanded. Reminds me, I owe you a life debt or something for making Angie head 'stead of me. She's spitting mad, naturally, but I'd have stormed over there and demanded you return and take the job back; she'll just do it. On the plus side, I may also be able to talk her into assasinating Roger.  
Don't know if this will interest you, but my old headmistress at Fionafein died; she was a decent lady. You remember old Dougal, the man who helped us when we were after the Cauldron of Dian, who was a bit off his rocker? Well, he's just been officially been made head of dear Fionafein Symposium of Sorcery. Ah, I know it's just a wee bit of a school, but it's older than yours, my gal, so there. Anyway, she took me when Dippet wouldn't, and it feels like I've got a debt I never paid the woman. Can't say I like the feeling- you know how I am with debts. Not quite sure what I can do about it now. You know, I've wondered- if my aunt had waited a month, I would have ended up at that school of yours, once Dumbledore took over. We talked about this before, a long time back, but it's been playing on my mind as of late, even before you went back there. I would have been two years ahead of you- eh, I shouldn't be going on about this. Haven't quite decided whether I'll send this letter or not. Might, just for the heck of it, and because you need to get the info anyways and I'd rather not take the time to rewrite it.  
Look, I know everything's muddled up between us. We aren't just friends, but we aren't anything else, either. Particularly with that old, er, mate of yours dying. I know we've tried to work it out before, and that if we try again...eh, I'm probably not going to send this, anyways, so I might as well just put it on paper. I don't have anymore idea than you do of where my feelings stand now. But I am sick to death with not being able to talk straight with you anymore, 'specially with you getting so uppity and not practicing sword lessons anymore. Yes, I know, you've got that funny expression between bemusement and fury on your face; please drop it, it's driving me mad just picturing it. You're a very exasperating girl, Jen. Crazy as hell, too. We're the same, you and I, and that's the dangerous bit of it, we're too much alike, you've said it before- we'll kill each other if we stay together in the same place too long. Just say friends again, c'mon, junevile as you may think it. Call me, latest number's 715 (yes, just that, I've got it rigged, bloke owes me a favor, not to mention a hundred some Galleons). Call me, if you've got time. And if you need help, we've got your back, we're just across the pond. Hey, you know what? Think this is the closest I've ever come to writing a love letter- don't misinterpret that, just pointing out a fact.  
Shoot, I've digressed. First, whatever you do, do not let yourself fall into the hands of the enemy. You've accumulated knowledge that would be deadly in Voldemort's hands, even the simplest of secrets. Fair warning, not only vamps are being recruited. Dementors, giants, men as you know, but I've heard, despite pureblood malcontent, that he is making advances to the goblins, trying to incite a revolution. Sure, he probably plans to just enslave them in the end, but it's dangerous now. Send envoys to their leaders while you can; get an inside man in Gringotts. He's after trolls, as well- and Jen, in Albania, I'm sure he's seen the rare big ones. That's a headache we don't need. Thank Maeve, he knows the merpeople and centaurs are hopeless, but he's not above killing unicorns- I've already heard bad stories from the Germanic states. He's got quite the following there.  
One last thing- what does the Perilous Gard mean to you? We caught a Dark-supporting fellow, made him talk. I won't tell you how, but it's not methods you would have approved of. Those were the only word we could get him to say- 'the Perilous Gard, in the Perilous Gard,' his answer to each of our questions. I think- oh, blast it all. Shoot, gotta dash, give me a ring,  
D. F.  


She read it quickly, aware of Wood's intent eyes watching her. It was Fitz, all right, though in a rather wild mood at the time, and a serious one, as he rarely called her by her name, rather 'love' or 'darling' as he did to every girl, slightly mockingly of both the adressee and himself. She was a bit worried about his sign off- it was too abrupt, too fast, the writing was rushed. Something had interrupted him in his writings. She'd have to pass the word on to the Order. Perilous Gard- Gard was a castle- the castle perilous? She'd never heard of it.

She was startled by Fitz mentioning Fionafein Symposium of Sorcery, which he loved but rarely discussed. It was a small school in Ireland, tracing back to medieval times, even older than Hogwarts. It had been founded by the long-lived Queen Maeve, who had been instructed by Morgana Le Fay and in turn instructed the four founders of Hogwarts. Fionafein was a lovely, hidden castle, very prestigous, its teachings very ancient- even slightly dangerous. It took ten students a year, no more. Fitz had been nine when he was bitten, long down for canidacy to Hogwarts. He would have been the same year as Gideon Prewett, as Frank Longbottom, and, knowing him, he would have shared a house with one of the two. Dippet, then headmaster, had informed his parents that there was no possibility of him attending, same as he would have done for Remus. Fitz, a Muggle born whose paternal family had a tendency to derive, along the way, into family branches of wizards, had an aunt who was a witch, and who had been infuriated. She had seen to his acceptance into the reclusive Fionafein and paid for his pricey education. Fitz kept most of his past private, but he'd slowly revealed it to Jenny. That wasn't important now, though. He'd been through a anguish filled stage around the same time as the war, and Fionafein's students had stayed out of the war altogether, on either side.

The information about the vampires and the Perilous Gard might well prove invaluable. The rest, about the bards and the Tuatha de Danaan, were just his report on some of the ancient, powerful dangers that lurked in Ireland, letting her know he'd been keeping as busy as she. Until Voldemort was gone, she couldn't really worry about such things. He was right, though- Voldemort could not gain her knowledge of such matters.

"I need to make a call," she told Wood. "Oh, and you can let the Snidget out the window."

He gaped at her, disbelieving she would let such a Quidditch-related treasure go.

"It's all right, the bird knows its way home," she assured him, pulling out her phone and dialing. She lifted it to her ear.

Response was immediate. "Excellent, Francis, tell me you know how to kill this thing!"

"Fitz?" she asked worridly.

"Oh, Jen. Uh, lovely you've called." His voice was strained, pauses in between. She could here, in the background, the clash of steel on steel.

"Are you sword-fighting?" she gasped at him, causing Wood to give her a worried look. Fitz was excellent, the ancient art had been part of his school curriculum, but still, an occurence of this was not overly common, even in their line of work.

"Er, no." The swipe of a blade could be heard, followed by what sounded like him rolling on the ground, and a blade striking rock. "Well, perhaps, but-"

"What are you-"

"Don't ask, please don't ask. Look, Jen, lovely you've called, bet I'll see you sooner than you think, send any information to Angie, I heard about Dmitri, don't sweat it, gotta go, unless you want to wait on hold, which isn't very you-"

"I'll let you go."

"Thank you, merciful heavens! Bye, love- Oh, shoot, I'd forgotten! My contact in Scotland Yard-"

"You have a contact in Scotland Yard?"

"Yes- ouch! One sec." There was a brief pause, a loud clatter, and he returned, rather out of breath. "See, he says he needs Obliviators over there, stat, but he doesn't want them erasing his- see, his sister's a witch and he's not technically supposed to know or be involved in our world- he says there's a huge problem, needs help right away, huge problem, and since you're there..."

"Sure, Fitz," said Jenny, trying not to roll her eyes. With Fitz and his contacts, there was always some huge problem, tending to be of apocalyptical proportions- at least, to them.

"Thanks, Jenny. Owe ya one," he said, in his lilting voice. "Oh, drat, it's coming back- and it's brought a friend. Really got to go." The phone went dead in her ears as he clicked off.

"Productive conversation," she said dryly. She looked up at Wood, resolving to take him to Grimmauld Place once she'd explained things- Moody would let him in- grab somebody like Remus to go with her, and head off to see what the fuss was at Scotland Yard. Jenny looked nervously at Wood, unsure how to start. How to say this? Well, how had Moody said it to them, so long ago, right after they'd all vowed never to use an Unforgivable. "Well, kid, let me put this simply...You've been selected as the newest recruit of the Order of the Phoenix..."


	15. Pieces in Play

"Don't do anything stupid," Jenny said, annunciating each word with clear emphasis and fixating her eyes on the boy next to her.

Fred, mock hurt on his face, brought his hands to his chest with surprise. "Who, me?"

She fixed her piercing blue eyes on him, then sighed and examined their surroundings. It was early afternoon still, long before the many small, rounded streetlamps on their thin black poles began to light up. They stood before a building of light coloring, covered with numerous windows of darkened glass, with a long awning of clearer glass stretched out a bit above the entrance. A thick pole, emerging from the ground, bore on it a large, pyramidal sign of silver coloring, just several feet above Jenny's head. On it, the words New Scotland Yard were emblazoned in silver, raised off of their background. They were on the Victoria Embankment, where the residence of the Metropolitan Police Agency, better known as Scotland Yard, could be found.

Jenny, once more, looked at Fred and wished she had Remus with her instead. A man of some height of middle years in her company would give her far more credibility than that of a teenage boy. She'd never intended to bring him along. Odd how things could work out.

It had taken long enough to get Wood to Grimmauld Place. She'd conveniently forgotten that it was under the Fidelius. Luckily for the Order, the charm was clearly effectual, since Wood hadn't seen hide nor tail of the bloody house. Unfortunately, it also meant she had to scribble off a note to her uncle, who had long since gone back to Hogwarts, and had to wait for what seemed a dreadfully long time until the owl bearing the message returned. Wood, who'd seemed a bit skeptical and wary of her, probably half sure she was mad after the story she'd told of the Order, had been amazed to see it was true.

The house, while relatively clean, had been untidy, something which Molly Weasley was trying to fix when not fussing over Bill, who had magically enhanced crutches to get about. He looked as if he wanted to speak with Jenny, but his pretty girlfriend (who had, by some means or another, managed to get into the house) had drawn him off into another room, fluttering about him anxiously, and he'd had no objections.

"Get back here, Pig!" shouted the twin's younger brother, clearly annoyed, as he chased after a small Scops owl, with mischief in its perky eyes, that made Jenny instantly identify it with the blasted Snidget. "Blasted bird!" he yelled, turning around the corner, a letter firmly in his grasp. The bird clung to close to the ceiling. The tall boy scrambled for his wand, summoned it, then held it tightly in his fist as he said something that sounded to be both a bit affectionate and slightly threatening towards it, pacing off in the opposite direction without ever having noticed the newcomers.

"Pig?" said Wood disbelievingly. "He named his owl Pig?"

Even someone as idiotic as Sirius could be wouldn't call it that, she thought bemusedly, though he'd be caught dead rather than buy one of those little pests, thinking of the huge grey owl Sirius had once briefly owned. She laughed lightly, when a sudden noise startled her. "Ah, there we go."

Sounds of small explosions led them quickly to the twins, who had seated themselves in the former library of Sirius' father, though scarce few books remained in it. They were seated at a small, rounded table, focused intently on their task, and didn't bother to look up. Before them lay a game of wizard chess- or what remained of the original, since the twins clearly weren't playing the game in the usual manner. Rather, they seemed to be embroiled in the simultaneous creation and testing of one of their products.

Pawns of different color, one side flashing red, the other green, locked swords intently and shouted curses at each other, displaying more mobility than in any other pieces either of the newcomers had ever seen. Tiny horses reared anxiously, some still looking made of stone while others pranced about, colored dark chestnut and strawberry roan, neighing anxiously as what appeared to be sweat dripped down their tiny hides. The small armored figures on their back were having trouble keeping them under control, one of them falling off and chasing his around in a circle. Clearly, the new creations weren't behaving by the rules of the game. In place of rooks on the green side of the field were bright green dragons, one of which (apparently modeled after a Norwegian Ridgeback with the help of one of Charlie's books, as the details were perfectly that of such dragons, despite the coloring) remained asleep no matter how many times George prodded it with his wand. The other, on the opposite end of the spectrum, flew wildly about, reeling and screeching as it dive-bombed the cowering phoenix on Fred's side. The other phoenix glanced at the dragon haughtily, and remained perched on the shoulder of the lovely queen. Taking a closer look, Oliver held his laughter in, since the queen undeniably resembled one Angelina Johnson. George, unlike his rash brother, had to his sister's delight repaid her for assisting them in some of their latest ventures and made his queen in her image, earning him the right to ask for several favors of her and her good graces; while his brother, knowing Angelina, would probably only get a whack on the ear. That, of course, wouldn't stop Fred.

Obviously, their kings were themselves. Fearing to appear narcissistic and risk marketability, they'd "disguised" themselves a bit. Fred's king, looking like an older him who, bemusedly, he had given sideburns and a flowing moustache, was doing a little jig and kept tipping his crown. It presented a comical figure, though still a kingly one, and except for the red hair, would not be easily recognized as Fred. George's retained a bit more of himself, but he had added some artistry to make the king seem more majestic. His jaw was heavily defined, like a comic book character, rarely seen in life, and he'd given him a small goatee. He sat stoically, dictating the battlefield with majestic gestures. George, a bit annoyed with its lack of emotion, prodded it with his wand, causing the king to rise up and display a series of movements with a sword. Fred and George, still unaware of the onlookers, watched with surprise, even a bit of jealousy on Fred's part.

"Didn't know it could do that," George remarked, pleased, but he grew annoyed as the king began to push his way forward to battle the pawns. He pushed him back with his wand. Clearly, the difficulty seemed to be getting the pieces to follow the rules of the game.

The only ones behaving properly were the bishops. A huge black dog, its tail wagging, moved along the diagonal path George indicated to leap for the throat of one of the pawns, who, with a flick of Fred's wand, became fully in color, revealing that they wore Hogwarts robes, despite the swords. Blood spurted out of the pawn's neck, then disappeared, with a distasteful look from George.

"Ech," he said, pulling a face. "Too gruesome."

The pawn fell, breaking into pieces and returning to stone. The stone bits shot across to the left of the board, then reassembled into the lifeless figure of the pawn, silent and dead until another game.

But by taking the pawn, George's bishop left his sleeping dragon-rook vulnerable. A stag bounded out diagonal steps to take it, its coat glistening as if struck by moonlight. Nearby, George turned the attention of his werewolf-bishop to the stag and sicced it on it, its coat bristling. Unfortunately, the stag decided to break the rules of the game and nimbly dodged it.

Jenny's eyes darted to Fred's other bishop, and her face relaxed into a broad smile as she let out a short laugh. Watching the scene contemptuously, a miniature cat with tabby markings sat licking her paw daintily, casting a disapproving look on the stag-bishop that had ignored the rules. Calmly, it didn't even await an order from Fred, but saw an opening and trotted over to take George's king, ending the hectic experimental game.

Both boys were completely surprised by its actions. Dragons and phoenixes dropped from the air, shattering instantly, while the cat, before freezing in place like the others, looked up to give the two pranksters an admonishing, smug glance.

"Good Godric," said George, running a hand through his hair. He restored the dragons, intently focusing on them. "Seems they need the taddest more adjustment before commencing with production."

"Ever so slight," Fred agreed. "Can't have the pieces winning for you." One of the phoenixes, ground to red powder from its high drop, refused to repair itself. "Hmm, interesting. We need a new rook. Hello, Jenny," he said calmly, not even looking up. "Heard you laughing. Your opinion?"

"Amusing," she offered.

George huffed, improving one of his pawns. "Could have a bit more enthusiasm for our latest product. 'For the alleviation of boredom,'" he quoted. "Weasley's Delightful Diversions, the latest line we are producing, beginning with Capricious Chess- the exciting, changeable, far less boring version of chess, for those of us, bored easily, who are left to our own devices and forbidden, expressly, by Moony in a very tired mood- meaning terribly grumpy and mean- to do anything that will cause our dear, sweet mother, whose beloved house will need many repairs- 'undue grief'." He snorted, looking indignant. "So, we borrowed little Ronnie's chess set, and Bill's players, too, and decided to use this golden opportunity to create a far more fascinating and wheezing game which will hopefully also manage to keep our younger brother from defeating us in this field of play." He looked thoughtful. "Also, we can charge a great deal more money for a chess set made expressly for prankster's than we can for our Sniving Snackboxes. Just think-" The queen-Ginny, which he had attempted to smash to see how quickly it could repair itself, awoke at once and hit his hand with her stone palm, causing him to slightly wince- "we can double the price of normal sets, because everyone will want one of ours, and make another fortune faster. Still-"

Fred finished for him. "It's mostly just entertainment, for the less talented. Not everyone is as brilliant as us and capable of the proper use of our Li'l Saboteur's Stealth Sack, though it's hard for even utter idiots to miss with the Skiving Snackboxes- one of our more ingenious ideas, that- and this can be used even for the witchlets and wizardlings-"

"Oooh, we can use that in advertising," George interrupted, trying to fix Fred's phoenix.

"Good point. Aah, well, it expands our target demographic- yes, Jenny, I know big words like demographic- and is bound to make us a top shopping spot come Christmas time and birthdays. And oh, how parents spend on Christmas and birthdays," he finished wickedly, a glint in his eye. The Padfoot bishop bit his dangling hand. "Youch! George! I told you not to give him real teeth!"

Wood made a scoffing noise. "And what made you think that would stop him?" he asked incredulously.

Simultaneously, the Weasley's brothers heads jerked straight up, and they exchanged furtive looks. Ever so slowly, they began to turn their heads in Wood's direction, and gaped at him with open mouths.

"He-he-he-huh-how?" George said weakly.

Fred gave Jenny a sulky look. "You've made other little friends. I don't feel special anymore."

"Oliver?" George said in disbelief. He and Fred rose from their seats, circling Wood, their mouths still hanging open.

Fred, frowning slightly, reached out and gripped Oliver's arm tightly, his expresion indicating he was surprised he was solid. Wood, indignant, pulled his arm from out of Fred's grasp.

Wood looked at the chessboard, horror on his face. "This- this is what you chose to do rather than accept an offer from the Wigtown Wanderers? Play with- with toys?!"

George looked at Fred. "It's him."

"Eh, Oliver, you all right? We, er, heard-"

"Rather not talk about it," he said briskly, wincing as he examined a headless pawn with his face and recognized other features, rather grotesquely maligned, as familiar visages from school.

"Excellent," said Fred. "Then I'm free to murder you for not answering our letters or even bothering to dash off a SINGLE BLOODY LINE in TWO BLOODY YEARS!!" he roared.

George clapped Oliver on the back, a bit too hard. "Nice to see ya again, mate. Fred's upset you didn't write back to Angelina. Quite frantic, she was, about the Quidditch plays. The girls were mighty unhappy with you- I'm counting my brother among the girls," he added, in a stage whisper, causing his brother to sock him lightly.

Wood looked startled. "I, er, meant to write, but er, never, uh, got around to it." Fred glared at him menacingly, which was in contrast to George beaming at him as if he was a long-lost brother and reaching for the box of their latest Skiving Snackboxes to test on him, with permission, naturally.

"You were too busy with your new, professional league friends to answer our letters!" Fred ranted, continuing along the lines, "weren't good enough for the big, bad Keeper, nooooo..."

This was going well, Jenny decided. Wood, for the moment, wasn't even thinking about his parents. Fred and George, even when one was angry at him, made the perfect distraction. She lounged against the wall and enjoyed the show.

"What letters?" Wood asked helplessly, his Scottish accent even more noticeable as he raised his voice to be heard over Fred's tirade.

"Oh, you didn't even read them, great! Rather enjoy your fan mail!"

"Like I get fan mail!"

George interrupted, pushing the two apart. "Stop acting like a bunch of dunderheads. We haven't seen him in just about two years, no need to start shouting at him."

"Well, you could have stopped by the shop," Fred grumbled, but fell silent.

"I didn't get any letters," Wood informed him, now that he had quieted down.

"Impossible," Fred said, frowning.

"We sent them to you in the care of Pride of Portree, just like you told us at the Cup," George explained, also mildly unnerved.

Oliver rounded on them. "You what?" he asked them, his voice on the verge of rising.

George sighed and began to repeat himself. "We sent them to you in the care-"

Fred nudged him, noticing a small vein in Wood's forehead throbbing slightly. "Oh, shoot, what's the other one with the P?"

George, understanding from his brother's comment that they'd sent it to the wrong team, began fumbling for the word. "Parsley, Parnage, Portr- no, that's wrong-Puddmum, Puddlegum- uhm- Puddleduck?" he offered brightly.

"Puddlemere!" Wood roared, with the same intensity he had shown in correcting them at Quidditch Practice.

"Explains that," Fred mumbled. "Sorry, Oliver."

"We were distracted that day. Gambling," George said, with a nod. "It's an evil occupation."

Wood's hand went over his eyes. "Sometimes, I wonder how the two of you actually manage to function in the real world."

"You didn't hear about us getting kicked off the team then?" George offered, still cheerily.

Wood's head jerked up. In all the years he had been captain, that had been his worst fear- that or Harry getting killed before their latest game- and the most likely (again, excepting Harry dying) to occur. "You didn't."

"_I_ did nothing," Fred said, in a rather superior tone.

George snorted. "Not for lack of trying. The girls held him back," he explained.

"Held him back from what?" Wood asked, the horror in his tone evident. In his mind, the twins could have committed no worse crime.

"You heard about Umbridge from the papers?" George asked, pulling a face at the name. "Well, the Ferret-"

"The what?"

"You didn't hear about Moody turning Draco Malfoy into a ferret?" Fred said incredulously.

"No, that I didn't."

"You have been out of touch."

"I heard about the Triwizard," Oliver protested. "Couldn't believe they canceled the Quidditch House Cup for it, though... Heard about Diggory, too- felt bad, I never spoke to him again after he beat us..." His mind returned to the present. "Wait, so what about Malfoy?"

"Well, he was bothering our brother the whole game-"

"What's Ron have to do with it?"

George and Fred exchanged looks. "Erm, he's the new Keeper," George said kindly.

Wood's face went slack for a second.

Fred snapped his fingers in front of his face. "You all right?"

"Yeah. I knew I had a replacement. But...Ron? Harry's little pal? Your kid brother? I somehow didn't see it being him. Maybe Finnigan, or Thomas, or even your kid sister..."

"Don't worry, Oliver, he's not as good as you," Fred said, getting to where Wood's real concern lay.

"Frankly, he's not much good at all," George said, snickering, "though he has improved- slightly. Anyway, he didn't stop anything, that first game, but Harry caught the Snitch quick, and Malfoy, as usual, was left snatching air. He made some choice comments about our mothers, so we jumped him."

Wood groaned. "On the field? In front of the teachers..." He trailed off, looking as if he had just stared Voldemort in the face. He'd just connected that Fred 'hadn't done anything' with the words 'our mothers' and 'we'. "Harry didn't- oh, no, no!" he wailed, looking desperate. He grabbed Fred by the shoulders, and shook him hard. "Tell me you didn't lose my Cup!"

"No, Angelina saved it. She got Ron to improve, and my sister beat Chang to the Snitch," Fred said calmly, despite that Wood was still shaking him hard. "Of course, the new Beaters were rotten, absolutely rotten, and they'll keep our positions, too, the blaggards."

"Angelina made a good captain, I bet," said Wood testily, still unnerved by all this information. Realizing he was still gripping Fred, he released him. "How are the girls, anyways?"

"Angelina and Alicia signed with the Harpies, as I'm sure you've heard, and 'course Katie's still stuck in school for another year, but she's pulling an internship with the Department of Magical Games and Sports as well, with her dad there and all. Oh Alicia managed to get some top level job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures- don't know how she's juggling that." Fred informed him.

"They're quite sore at you," George told him. "Angelina wrote letter after letter- I read them before we sent them to you, so I know- asking your advice for playing each separate team, choosing the Keeper- basically everything. You know Angelina- almost always calm. Well, she was in a fury when you didn't respond."

Fred looked quite discontent with that.

"Blamed us," George continued. "Guess she had reason to, since we sent them to the wrong team. They never saw you at the Quidditch World Cup, so they were relying on us." Under Wood's glare regarding that topic, George hurriedly switched. "Alicia stopped writing after the first time- she said you'd probably gotten too thick to write us. Katie kept sending you curses in the mail once it became clear you weren't answering...hmmm, wonder whatever happened to those. None of them like you much anymore. Oh, I don't think Harry bothered to write you at all, but he's had enough on his mind, as I'm sure you have gathered."

Wood deflated slightly, and looked slightly sad again, the anger gone.

"But you'll be seeing Angelina and Alicia, playing against them and all. Should be interesting, having them for rivals."

Jenny laughed slightly.

"What?" said George, irritably, as he whirled to her.

"The Harpies?" she said, mildly amused. "Your friends are playing for the Harpies?"

"They're a good team," Oliver told her noncommittally.

Jenny shrugged. "I'm sure they are. Back in my day, though, they were a bit fanatical. Very...erm, anti-men. They won enough, though. Still, obsessed. Then again, Celia- a Gryffindor Chaser a few years ahead of me- she signed with them, and she was utterly normal," she added hastily as Fred turned dead white, causing his freckles to stand out with remarkable clarity.

"Ah," said Wood, frowning slightly. "That would explain their Captain trying to strangle Liam Peterman during our last game."

"Onto a safer topic," said George, casting a glance at his pale sibling. "How on earth did you meet her, anyways, Ollie?"

"Don't call me that," said Wood with a roll of his eyes. "Anyway, it's a long story, involving a Snidget."

Fred's head perked up, his color restored. "Snidget? Tell me you still have it," he pleaded.  
"No," Jenny said calmly. "But the fellow who caught it pulled a few tail feathers out, which are lying on the floor of my room. I'll get them to you later."

Fred, eyes dreamy, fell silent, contemplating all the possible uses and blackmarket prices for the feathers of the rare Golden Snidget.

George, equally pleased and realizing no story was forthcoming, again changed the topic. "You're joining the Order, then, Oliver?"

"It seems so."

"C'mon, then, let's see if we can scare up Moody and I'll introduce you," he said, his eye gleaming wickedly as it caught the light. He clapped an arm onto Oliver's shoulders and forcibly dragged him down the stairs, pausing only to grab the box of fireworks. "Come along, Fred!"

Fred seemed a bit startled- he was used to being the one to shout 'come along'. He made a motion to move forward.

"Hey, before you go, you mind directing me to Remus?" Jenny said casually.

Fred paused, studying her intently. "He left, with Tonks and Hestia Jones. Charlie called for back-up with his mirror. They've been gone since the crack of dawn."

Jenny bit her lip, concealing her frustration and keeping her face impassive. "Fine. Tell him I stopped by, and keep Oliver occupied- you don't want him thinking about his parents." She swiveled, heading for the door.

Darting, Fred stepped into her path, chin lifted and determined. "You're going on a mission."

"Hardly," she drawled.

"I'm going."

She laughed. "I'm just checking up on a contact for my fool of a business partner."

"The vampire, right? Well, a contact of his can't be boring," said Fred candidly, demonstrating that he actually had paid attention to her conversations with Remus.

"A Muggle contact," she clarified, raising an eyebrow. "You'll only serve as an impediment. No offense," Jenny added hastily, at his quirked eyebrow. "But honestly, you'd stick out like a sore thumb. I'm walking into Scotland Yard blind. I've got no solid information, and you'd just detract from my credibility."

Fred stuck out his bottom lip. "It isn't fair," he protested, careful not to whine. "George got to go on a mission, and now you won't even let me come with you for a little one. You favor him," he said, making puppy-dog eyes. "And now Oliver is your new friend. I don't feel loved!" he said plaintively.

Jenny sighed, heavily. "Oh, please don't do that. Look, I know your type- all too well, might I add. You'll say something wrong, or touch something dangerous that will explode, or-"

"I won't!"

Jenny threw her hands into the air, face frustrated. "All right, you can come! But- and I mean this now- don't do anything stupid."

"I won't, I won't!" he said happily, jumping up and down a bit giddily. He paused. "So where are we going?"

She couldn't help herself- she sighed again.

A quarter of an hour later, once Jenny had warned him again to his hidden exasperation, she stalked, to his suprise, not straight to the building but to the side of it. Casting a quick concealing spell, she masked a small square area along the side of the building.

"Sit," she ordered, gracefully settling to the ground herself and draping a stylish, if large, black bag before her.

He complied, flopping to the pavement and crossing his legs Indian style as she dug into her purse.

"Lesson one," she said, almost absently, as she methodically pulled out strange tubes, boxes, and- ugh- perfume bottles, "when you want to disguise yourself in the wizarding world, always use Muggle means. On the other hand, if you're heading somewhere in the Muggle world, disguise yourself magically."

"Does that mean Polyjuice Potion?" said Fred, retching inwardly as he thought of the formula, which he and George had used once to torment Filch and Snape.

"Actually, no. Waste of time to create it, and it can wear off at the most inopportune of moments," Jenny informed him, with a telling cringe. "There's far better, easier to use, and decidedly less risky and traceable products."

"Makeup?" said Fred doubtfully, with a powerful shudder.

"Not makeup," said Jenny strongly. "I've never really favored the stuff."

"Knew there was a reason I liked you," mumbled Fred, highly relieved. He picked up a jar. "What is this junk, then?"

"Junk?" Jenny said bemusedly. "I'll have you know that everything you see before you is exceptionally pricey and rare."

He shrugged. "It's not made by us, it's junk."

She chose not to debate that point. Carefully, she selected a small bottle of pink glass, unscrewing the top and pulling a thin glass tube from within. Holding it above her eye, she let the liquid drip first into one eyes, than the other. Blinking, she looked at Fred with eyes slightly more narrow than before of rather murky brown shading.

His jaw dropped. He'd experimented plenty with such matters, and he'd never encountered a change more realistic or drastic in any of the products he'd purchased. He swallowed. "I may have to remedy my opinion."

Unperturbed, Jenny reached for a flat, round container labeled Hamilton's Hair-tastic. Fred looked at the title contemptuously as she spoke. "Scotland Yard has cameras. If avoidable, I don't want to deal with Obliviating or camera wiping. I hate that nonsense. It's better not to be recognized. I think losing a piece of memory is quite possible the worst thing a person can do to another without consciously meaning to hurt them." She reached into the container, scooping a bluish cream smelling vaguely of flowers onto her palm and smoothing it over her hair. It spread, dancing out and over, easily turning her smooth pale brown locks into a veritable main of crinkly black, which Jenny proceeded to scoop into a quick, professional bun. Crinkles of hair escaped, giving her a harried, hurried look.

She handed Fred a similar jar, though with a homemade look and with a label that had scraped almost entirely off. "Red's too noticeable," she said, almost apologetically. "Don't worry, it comes off easily."

Fred looked at it suspiciously, keeping his eyes on her as he began to apply it. "You said this place handles law enforcement?"

"Yes," she said, hitting a pair of heavy black glasses with her wand and causing them to flick through different designs before settling on a pair of black, relatively shaped like a cat's eye. "But what we're dealing with- you'll have ordinary workers here, of course, but still top notch. A good percent of them are the equivalent of our Hit Wizards, Orange Squad caliber."

Fred choked, not noticing his hair changing to a dusty blond shade and becoming straight, even a bit longer. "Orange Squad?" he repeated, his voice slightly high. The Orange Squad were the top team of Hit Wizards, a very small, elite number, chosen for their great skills and called in on the most dire of emergencies. They were legendary, even, but they'd been all but disbanded since the Voldemort years. They'd been called back into action and were determinedly working with the Aurors in their bold attempts to track down Sirius Black in Tibet. Suspiciously, he studied her. "You didn't used to like, work for them, did you?"

It was her turn to choke. "Merlin, no! What in the world-"

"Well, I think it's been pretty clear you didn't used to be an Auror," Fred began, slightly offended.

"I worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

Fred dropped the jar with a large clang. "Like Alicia. I didn't expect that- I mean, er, it's just sort of-"

"Unglamorous?" she suggested, a bit ruefully. "The Order needed somebody on the inside there. I got picked. End of story."

"Or not," he countered, studying her suddenly taut face. "You didn't like it much."

"There were worse assignments others had to take, others who gave up bigger dreams," she shrugged. "Some got what they wanted, some didn't. I was a kid, I still resented it. It wasn't a bad job."

"What exactly was it?"

Jenny paused, wondering why she was telling the kid so much. She hadn't told Fitz as much till nearly a year after she'd known him. "I started as a clerk in the Office of Misinformation. That was sort of fun," she admitted, recalling the rumors she'd planted. "When I was fired, I was Junior Head."

Fred, though shocked, was hardly speechless. "It's the second largest department in the ministry!"

"My superiors died a lot."

"Eh." It took a moment for that to fully sink in, during which Fred examined his hair, craning his neck and finally resorting to pulling out a strand to study it.

Jenny handed him a mirror, looking relieved. "Thankfully, you look nothing like him," she muttered.

Fred had sharp ears. "Pardon?" he said, a sudden terrible picture of Jenny scalping someone and using his hair to make the potion.

"A friend who thought it useful to make a potion his exact hair color, also making it traceable to magic users, assuming they'd assume he didn't look the way he did because it was clear he had a hair changing formula on."

"That makes not a shred of sense."

"Neither did he."

Fred studied the hair color, and it clicked. "The younger Prewett, wasn't it."

Jenny looked mildly impressed. "Yeah. Gideon's. I never use it if I can help it, but most of my potions are floating at the bottom of the Aegean Sea- don't ask. it's unnerving to see his hair on someone else."

Fred shuddered slightly. "His actual hair isn't in-"

"No."

He relaxed.

"They actually were on the Orange Squad," she commented off-hand. "Gideon would have been running it, if he hadn't died. Though, I can't quite imagine Fab taking orders from him." She shook the memories off. "We should hurry up."

Jenny picked up one last bottle. "This is from Singapore," she told him. "Models pay fortunes for the reverse of it." She smeared it on her face, and suddenly, her flawless face had more laugh lines and furrows than previously. She looked her age, if not older. She shuddered. "Hate using this stuff. How people touch the reverse, I don't know- my friend had to use it, and she flipped- it was like worms were squirming into her pores, she said. Your turn."

Fred recoiled. "Me? Why me?"

"Because you have to pass as twenty-five, at least," she explained, as she would a child, her tone exceedingly superior and patient. "Makes for better credibility. Plus, it'll fade your freckles slightly."

Fred complied, shuddering as the ice cold cream covered his cheeks. It felt as if moisture, droplets of water, were being suctioned out of his skin, like one of those Muggle vacuums his dad tinkered with.

He peered into the mirror, Jenny popping over his shoulder. "We look ordinary," he remarked with some suprise, able to think of no other word for it. Compared to their usual selves, whether red hair or piercing blue eyes, there was almost no way a person would be able to accurately recall their faces- he doubted he'd remember it himself later. They would blend easily in a crowd. Fred's appearance lingered dubiously in the twenties, but even an expert would have to pause to guess his age. His new expression, with the wrinkles, was relatively bland, in combination with his sandy hair, which hardly suited his usual face but, unlike the way it had appeared on Gideon, simply gave him a look of dusty, weary normality. He was neither handsome nor ugly, in no way remarkable. Of course, a devilish quirk of his eyebrow fixed that in a moment, assuring himself he truly remained a Weasley. Jenny's was similar. Her darkened hair tied up, with a few crimped strands escaping, her face looked more angular than usual, and the glasses accentuated the sharpness of her nose, narrowing her eyes. She looked harried and professional, world-wearied and older, and entirely unrecognizable as Guineviere Philips. Still, she wasn't unattractive- Fred, fondly, didn't think that was possible, though his sensible side (did he have a sensible side? he wondered to himself) told him there were times when she was a great deal less... well, glamorous. She made a face at her reflection, then tugged the mirror away from Fred, examining himself self-consciously, to toss it back into the bag.

"If Angelina could see me now," he murmured disparagingly to himself.

"One last thing," she said calmly, interrupting his musings as she pulled out her polished black wand. Fred scrambled to his feet and took a deliberate step back. Jenny gave him an impatient look, which reminded him far too much of that of his mother, particularly with the changed features. "Get your own wand out," she finally explained, when she realized he didn't understand what he was meant to do.

"Ah, gotcha," he said, patting his jeans and blue sweater down, unable to recall where he had set it. Several moments later, he finally pulled it out of a loop he'd created in a sweater (unfortunately, it was of his mother's creation) for the very purpose of not forgetting where it was.

"Watch closely, do what I do, hurry up," she told him in one breath, annoyed. "Visualize yourself wearing a suit."

"Hey, I'm already in Muggle clothing," he protested, plucking at his sweater.

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

He grumbled, but closed his eyes and pictured a Muggle suit like some innocent victim of a Weasley prank had worn, black in color although he was tempted to go for puce. Remembering Jenny had said to watch her, he flicked his eyes open before she could reprimand him.

Jenny, wand in hand, gracefully lifted a hand over her face in a movement almost ballet-like, turning and flicking the wand delicately. "Mesmerus," she murmured. Fred repeated her, though more casually.

"What does that do?"

"Mind trick spell. Doesn't hold up to changing features, but it's useful enough to make something not living appear different to another's eyes," she explained. Glancing at her, Fred understood what she meant, seeing her as wearing a black blazer, blouse, stiff skirt, and apparently heels in place of the dusty boots and silver-trimmed robes he knew were really there. Looking down, he saw on himself only his normal clothes, but Jenny's cringe implied it appeared to be something else.

"What?" he said worriedly.

"Nothing. But try to avoid wearing suits in the future. One sec, I'll change it for you a bit," she said calmly. Flicking her wand in his direction, Fred saw her taut jaw relax at whatever change she brought about. "The spell's also useful to manipulate the minds of others," she commented as if there had never been an interruption, bringing down the concealment field around them. "They'll buy basically anything we say. Act like you're meant to be there, and they'll buy it. But watch it- this spell can wear off, or break, particularly to the strong minded, which is why a disguise is important. I didn't have the proper clothes with me- certainly no men's suits, so if this fails, it could cause a minor difficulty. So maintain concentration, because you will look awfully silly walking around in jeans. Don't look at anything too hard, don't talk to anyone," she began ticking the possible offenses off on her fingers, "don't touch anything, don't make any remarks about quaint Muggle ideas or go asking what something is-"

"In other words, don't do anything stupid," he said wearily, giving her an exasperated, hurt look. "I got it, I got it." He stepped out of the concealment she'd set up, not seeing her wince and hope desperately no Muggle had seen him walk apparently out of thin air, and began walking towards the building, head held high with as much dignity as he could muster.

It was short lived, as with his gaze directed to the sky he entirely missed the crack between two spaces of sidewalk, a problem uncommon on the cobbled streets of the wizarding world. His sneaker caught, and Fred suddenly found himself hurling towards the pavement. Grabbing his collar, Jenny caught him from behind just in time, yanking him to his feet and half- strangling him in the process.

Rubbing his neck, he said weakly, "I meant to do that. Checking to see if you're on your guard, and all that."

She coughed politely, clearly trying not to laugh, and with a slight jerk of her head, indicated they should hurry up. Picking up the pace with a professional stride, she headed straight for the doors, Fred on her heels. Gripping the silver handle, she swung the door open, holding it open for Fred to sidle in. She nodded readily at an officer heading out, having no security troubles since Scotland Yard functioned as a regular police station as well, where people could enter to report troubles. Her eyes zeroed in on several cameras without seeming to, avoiding their gaze as elusively as possible. Fred, entirely wizard-born, probably only had a vague idea of what they could do, so she felt grateful he followed her precisely. Entering further in, Jenny flashed an ID she pulled out at a guard who approached them that made him immediately step back. Fred, curiously, wondered what it said.

Fred gawped as they entered an area where bustling officers, some in plainclothes while others wore uniforms, sat at their desks, hustling about between corridors, exchanging and shuffling papers. Fellytones- no, Ron was rubbing off on him, they were telephones- rang; devices with keys like those of a typewriter and screens that glowed and buzzed belonged to nearly all the desks, men and women working diligently away at them; ordinary people sat speaking with unreadable bobbies; all around him Fred saw devices his father would gladly give his right arm to receive for his next birthday. His fingers itched, and he swatted them with his other hand, berating himself silently. Despite the origins of the hair color he wore, he was a prankster, not a thief- excepting very special cases, but that issue was not up for debate at this point. He noted, however, there seemed to be a great, nervous activity rising in the air, and everyone seemed to be moving quite rapidly. Couldn't be good, he decided, recognizing trouble when he saw it.

Jenny approached a uniformed officer with confidence, Fred taking her side. As the e to face her, Fred watched Jenny take in symbols on his uniform with one smooth glance. Opening her ID again, she held it up, business-like. "Aileen Pendragon, Special Forces," she declared, naming a branch of Scotland Yard. "Sergeant, I was told there was an unusual situation that required my assistance. I received remarkably little briefing, just that it fell under my jurisdiction, which tends to be cases of the more unusual variety. If you could point me in the direction of the case's handler?" Her voice was altered from her usual tone, clipped and polished with the merest trace of past Cockney roots, unrecognizable as her disguise.

The officer glanced at her sympathetically, his broad, tired face suggesting he'd been called in himself. She'd managed to suggest with her tone the slightest annoyance with the need for her assistance, giving cause for his empathy. "Lieutenant Timothy Drake has charge of the case." He nodded his head to the left. "The desk at the end, ma'am, with the crowd about it. You'll find him willing enough to pass this one on, believe me."

Jenny nodded, stepping off.

"Good luck," the sergeant told her pityingly. "You'll be needing it."

She glanced back, nodding again with recognition. "Come along," she snapped to Fred, as a grouchy superior would to an assistant. Fred saw no difference between any of the desks in the bustling area, but Jenny made a beeline for a certain one at once, apparently able to distinguish between the various cops.

"Could you go through this once more," said a young man in casual uniform, who already had a streak of white in his black hair, despite the fact that he was only about Bill's age. He had his head practically in his hand, and had buzzing about him a stenographer taking down the entire conversation, a forensic team trying to obtain evidence he was reluctant to part with, and several cops simply attempting to get a handle on the situation, not to mention an even younger man in the uniform of a bobby local to some specific locality who the first man was attempting to interview despite all distraction. Continuing, the former said wearily, "You went to radio to your station. Then..." he trailed off, waiting for the younger cop to clarify.

Patiently, as if he had repeated this several times, but with an underlying tone of panic, "Boss- er, Joe McNally, that is, stayed with the car, like I said. All I know is when I came back, only a few minutes later, he was leaning against it, eyes closed. I figured he was just resting his eyes, so I shook him, but he didn't wake up. I was afraid he'd had a heart attack or something, but then I looked at the guys in the car, and I looked at him..." He trailed off, shuddering slightly.

"You didn't take his pulse as he'd taken that of the driver," another cop interrupted eagerly, obviously formatting a theory.

The young cop shook his head, rather ashamed. "No, sir, I did not. Am I- don't you think I should be looked over or something?" he said nervously.

A policewoman on the phone at a nearby desk sighed, covered up the speaking end of the phone, and turned. "Drake, Sisters' Hospital wants more of our men there, right away. It seems that along with the ambulance paramedics, several hospital employees have fallen into the same vegetative state upon examining our new friends there, despite precautions."

Drake, the cop conducting the interview, slumped very unprofessionally. "Get a full team down there, right away. Restrict contact, whatever you think best, Lacy."

"Whatever you say, Lieutenant," the woman responded wearily.

Fred, whose eyes had been darting and following the conversation, looked to Jenny.

"That's our boy, all right," she told him grimly. Pushing her way forward, she maneuvered people out of her way, far more politely than Fred, who practically shoved some indignant officers to follow her.

"Lieutenant Drake?" Jenny inquired sharply, and he jerked his head up hopefully, looking almost disappointed at what faced him. "Agent Aileen Pendragon, here to relieve you of the case."

He looked startled, almost frightened at that, but professional smoothness quickly replaced the flicker of uncertainty. "We have matters under control, ma'am." His fellows exchanged dubious glances.

The flicker was enough to tell Jenny he was almost certainly Fitz's contact, though she couldn't confirm it so easily. "From what I've heard, you do not, Lieutenant. When my superior called me in, he detailed that this case had your men entirely baffled. In my experience, Agent Fitzgerald rarely makes mistakes in such matters."

The young man's face cleared briefly as he cast her a furtive look. "If you believe you'll be able to add any insight to the investigation, Agent Pendragon, then we appreciate your contribution, of course."

"Pendragon? Like the Arthur stories?" one cop commented with a curious look.

Jenny winced inwardly as she recalled that Fitz had made up this particular identity and that he tended to borrow from both Muggle and wizarding stories, a habit she had eventually broken him of when it had caused much grief but that still pertained to the older identities. "Coincidence," she assured him, with an inflection that she hoped would convey the fact that this had caused her past annoyance.

Fred, bemused, seemed about to add a quip to this but stopped himself just in time.

"If you could brief me, Lieutenant," she began, casting her eyes with apparent contemptuousness about the herd surrounding him, "in private."

"There's an available office this way," he said at once, indicating a certain direction. "Benjy, if you would come as well?" he requested of his younger interviewee. Benjy, glancing at Jenny as if she were as harpy coming to tear out his hair, nodded obediently.

A forensic fellow made an attempt to follow, as Timothy Drake snatched an envelope labeled evidence, but Fred deterred him with a blocking arm and a glare, taking advantage of his different appearance to play around with an intimidating persona. It didn't work that well, as the bloke seemed more amused than put off or frightened, but he left all the same. Fred, not entirely pleased that his mission wasn't turning out as exciting as George's (he'd rather been picturing dragons terrorizing Scotland Yard), still was quite curious as he trailed Jenny into the proffered office, narrowly stopping the lieutenant from shutting the door in his face.

"My assistant," she explained calmly, then flashed a one moment sign with her finger to Drake out of view of Benjy. She then turned to the rookie cop, who seemed shaken. She turned to face him, whipping off the glasses and looking him square in the eye. In a monotonous voice, she told him, "Everything is fine. We are discussing calmly a rational explanation for this night's activities and you are describing tonight's events."

He blinked, his boyish face looking even more so. "Everything is fine," he repeated blankly.

"Sit," she suggested.

He sat, staring at something that didn't seem to be there.

"That was the Mesmerus Spell?" Fred suggested, impressed. "Wicked. I have to try that on the girls." He paused, considering Angelina's reaction to that.

"I was hoping he didn't have a terribly strong will. He can't hear anything we say," she informed Drake, who looked a bit stunned but not very shocked.

"Good. I didn't want him out of my sight, in case you had to Obliviate him," Drake said, relieved. "That was very Obi-Wan Kenobi of you, by the way."

Fred looked at him, with a stare even more blank than that of Benjy.

"One of the ones I picked up from Fitz," she said, a careless wave of her fingers diminishing its importance.

"You are Philips, then," he clarified, mildly suprised.

"Disguise," she explained, realizing she didn't look how he expected. "Magical ones are far more efficient than Muggle ones, no offense intended. I assume you're Charlotte Drake's brother?" she questioned, naming an ex- girlfriend of Fitz's who she'd had the misfortune of meeting.

He cringed. "Don't hold it against me."

"Don't think twice of it. Still, it explains why Fitz never mentioned a contact at Scotland Yard," she mused, considering both the variables of her long loathing of England and Fitz's terrible relationships with several former girlfriends (although he got along quite well with a few). Charlotte, who Jenny thought had probably attended Fionafein a year or two behind Fitz but had never really brought up, had dated Fitz back when he was eighteen (a remarkably bad year for him in several ways) and had never forgiven him for breaking up with her before she could break up with him. Jenny'd only met her once, but the memory of the woman had stuck with her, since she'd betrayed them on a mission when they'd acquired her help, nine years back.

Shaking her head to avoid thought of that mission, which had been the retrieval of the Cauldron of Dian (one of the items arriving in the mail earlier that morning), she turned back to the lieutenant. "What's the problem, then?"

He opened the enveloped, pulling out a wallet. "Two men were found last night by Blackpool, basically comatose, by our young pal there and his partner. The older fellow checked for a pulse, all the standard procedure, pulled out what you see here." He tossed Jenny a Galleon.

Fred's heart leaped to his throat, George having filled him in on the entire mission.

Tossing her the license, Timothy continued, "When they found this, there was clearly a problem. 'Ministry of Magic' certainly suggests something fishy's in the air. They called us in. Unfortunately, before backup even arrived, the older officer, a fellow by the name of Joe McNally, fell into the same state extremely rapidly. That caused enough concern, but when the ambulance paramedics, despite their standard gloves, fell into the same condition, there was an uproar. We've been trying to hush it up, but a lot of the officers are concerned. The supernatural isn't an everyday occurrence around here. I've been stalling as long as possible, and it helped that Junior here," he indicated the blinking Benjy, "has been in quarantine, but I could only hold out for so long. This is dangerous territory, Ms. Philips- a great deal of the force has seen this material."

Her face had gone sheer white.

"What is it, Jenny?" Fred urged, examining the Auror credentials of Kingsley Shacklebolt as she handed them to him wordlessly.

"They were sleeping," she said slowly, "but not waking up, right?" Her mind flashed to her second year.

He nodded, eagerly. "You know what it is, then, ma'am?"

"Yes," she whispered, sinking into a nearby chair and gripping its arms tightly. "Quite unfortunately, I do." Her eyes, deep-set and stricken, turned to Fred, as she reached rapidly for her purse. She pulled out her mirror quickly, handing it to the boy. "Call Dedalus Diggle."

"Diggle?" Fred said incredulously. "He's a swell guy, but a bit, erm..."

"He used to be the best Obliviator there was," she told him, pausing slightly with a tiny frown creasing her altered face. "We reckoned he probably hit himself once or twice..." she pondered, considering the sweet but often scatter-brained Diggle, one of the scarce remaining Order members of her mother's era. Snapping back to business, she informed Fred, "Tell Diggle there's a situation with Muggle exposure, bring a team with excellent Memory Charms and some Muggle expert- meaning someone Muggle born, not your father- to handle excuses. Tell them to get here at once, we'll need a massive wipe, including some officers who may be on the field or have left. Make sure he gets some people to - which hospital?"

"Sister's Hospital," Drake supplied.

"Yeah, that. Then call Remus at once, tell him it's the same transmogrified version of the Draught of Living Death that we encountered as kids- he'll understand. Ask him if he remembers properly, because mine of that's fuzzy- he'll know what I mean. Tell him to get on it right away- oh, and add it works by touch this time."

Fred nodded, intaking the information with seriousness, and Jenny felt glad at once she'd brought someone with her- she'd be needing all the help she could get. She whipped out her phone, dialing Fitz's number- she'd need his contacts for help with this. It rang. She waited, but he didn't pick up. It continued to ring, without any response. Fitz always had it with him. What on earth could be the matter?

"If you're calling Doyle," Timothy offered helpfully, "he mentioned he was going to Russia as soon as he handled some enchanted suits of armor."

Jenny, closing her eyes to retain her calm, paused before she flicked her eyes up, recalling Dmitri Dolohov's letter asking for help. Fitz's words from their brief call rang in her mind, 'I heard about Dmitri, don't sweat it'. She groaned. Typical Fitz, he'd go and handle it himself. Not Russia- that one Fitz didn't do so well with. Worse, the specific part of Russia Dmitri lived in was northern Siberia. Water at cold temperatures could scald a vampire, though 98 of the time, it had to be made cold by a force like magic, not just weather, in order to burn them. Such water was rarely encountered, and most of the time, Fitz was fine with normal water- fine with snow. Sometimes, though... well, with a vampire, one could never tell when the things they had partial weaknesses to, such as water, certain types of wood, and sometimes silver, could hurt them, as opposed to weaknesses such as sunlight. And while Fitz had no trouble with cold temperatures in general, if he were ever to be caught outside in Russian daylight, with sun reflecting on the shiny snow, he wouldn't just burn a little, he'd catch on fire. She forced that image out of her mind, pushing concerns out of her way. Fitz could handle himself. Anyway, she has problems of her own to deal with. The past was really on her heels now… _second year_….

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Doyle Fitzgerald was a lousy wizard. He admitted that freely, even to himself. It wasn't his fault in any way. He'd had the potential to be a great wizard, one of esteem and power, even as a child. He'd been marked down for Hogwarts since birth. His aunt, a witch herself, had been thrilled there would be another magic user in the family, as she'd been the only one since their grandfather, plus several cousins he'd never met. She'd taught him how to transfigure his toys, scatter them across the floor with his mind, make things float even without a wand- baby stuff most wizarding children managed. He loved using it to tease his kid sister, who was as Muggle as they came. His parents had been almost as pleased as his aunt, if a bit unnerved, and knowing in advance was far better than just receiving a letter out of the blue. Doyle was bright, he had magic, his life was set.

And then he'd been bitten. After a lingering trance of several days, where his nine-year old life hung in the balance, he woke up to find his mother in tears, his father pacing, his aunt furious, and himself a vampire. Only his relationship with his sister was a constant, as the three year old saw no difference in her beloved brother. Suddenly, everything changed. He'd never be able to attend Hogwarts, he'd have to be watched carefully since most vampires embraced what they were, sometimes reportedly due to madness. Almost all of them went wild, mad, running rampant throughout the land, hated more than even werewolves. He couldn't play in sunlight anymore. He wasn't allowed to play with other children, and even his parents were wary of him. Blood had to be provided for him, purchased usually from the butcher shop despite strange looks from the butcher himself. Even something as normal as going to a candy store had been made an experience he loathed, from having to go at night to the strange looks from other kids as he eyed the Blood-Flavored Lollipops. The healthy, ruddy color he'd always had in his cheeks vanished, becoming a pallor of almost white. No reflection in a mirror, and he had to avoid certain kinds of wood- acacia, mahogany, witch hazel… He'd been old enough to grasp what he'd been on the verge of, the hope for the normal life he'd lost. Darkness lurked in him now... and the thing was, he liked it. He'd always been trouble, and becoming a vampire only accented that. He got used to most of it. But his magical power... becoming a vampire had cost him.

It was theorized that the reason more Muggles went 'mad' upon becoming vampires was that they had no magic to begin with. The process of becoming a vampire, going from a human being to a creature, drained the magic from a wizard, then began to pull on their life force, the reason most victims of vampires simply died. A werewolf, similarly, underwent so painful a transformation for a similar reason, as werewolves could hardly use the magic of their wizard counterparts, but the magic of a werewolf was almost never affected as they were normal but for one day of the month. For the same reason, the first rule taught to every prospective Animagi, potions masters, transfiguration experts, and even Metamorphamagi was to never attempt to become a magical creature, such as a centaur or phoenix- one would become permanently stuck in that form. Fitz didn't really care about the reason. Suddenly, he found where he'd been able to levitate objects with ease he now had an unfortunate tendency to blow them up.

Fionafein had saved him, in a way. He'd been considering himself almost a Squib, but at Fionafein Symposium of Sorcery, he learned he could be a wizard as well as a vampire, and how to use his newfound skills. Doyle Fitzgerald's condition was the worst kept secret in the school, and, to his bemusement, it fascinated the others, drawing friends to him in flocks. With the excelled strength granted him, one of the few benefits, he found the rigorous demands of weaponry and dueling training to be remarkably easy. he couldn't say the same for the complicated magic itself. Even spells as rudimentary as Summoning Charms took him weeks of private practice to master, while his year mates, chosen for their magical prowess, accomplished at once. Fitz had a rough time with the more advanced spells, in particular. And, with his terrible luck, the only wand that would suit him was made of witch hazel. If he grabbed it without a leather glove to protect him, it would burn his skin. His teachers insisted on working through the pain. Despite all the obstacles, he excelled. He clawed his way to the front of the class.

He became cocky, arrogant. Although he had no notion of his own good looks without a reflection and cameras not being popular among the ancient curriculum of the symposium, Fitz found himself sought after by the girls. He loved trouble, looked for danger. At the slightest insult to himself or another, he'd readily jump for a fight. His friends and he became careless. When he graduated at seventeen, Fitz had skills of dangerous power, if more with weapons and blows than magic, and no restraint to hold him back. His thrill seeking never left him. His friends were worse than himself, their magic levels off the charts, and Ireland held within it all sorts of magical dangers to amuse them. It was the height of Voldemort's reign, and help was practically being begged for. So few believed Fionafein existed, they hadn't actively sought them, but Fitz and his mates had known their help would be needed, appreciated. They were contemptous of this Dark Lord, who had yet to actively mess with Ireland, except with one or two small attacks, including the McKinnons in Cork, but they were a Hogwarts family, and Fitz had no fondness for Hogwarts. They were wrapped up in their own superiority and set to make trouble, not interested in saving the world, thanks. As far as they were concerned, the bloody English could handle themselves.

Without the guidance of his school, Doyle fell in with a bad crowd. It was all too easy, especially when for the first time in his life he encountered other vampires- who made their life seem all too good to resist. He never entirely lost his integrity- he had a strong sense of honor, some part of him wanted to be the hero. He didn't cross the line, but his main concern was number one, and he kept getting sucked in deeper and deeper. The dark side was enticing, as he put it, not to mention a hell of a lot more fun. Suddenly his only issue with being a vamp was that he couldn't get drunk. Fitz was a creature of the night by nature, and he enjoyed the danger, starting to not notice they were endangering innocent lives. They'd summon demons, metaphorical and literal, just for the fight of finishing them off, and there were plenty of close calls. Even the Marauders, still living in that era, would hardly have approved. Life was good and exciting. Fitz had a steady girl, Charlotte Drake, who liked trouble as much as he did, although she messed with even more darkness than he dared. He kept his old friends, and he finally was among his own kind. What could go wrong?

And then one night, they went too far. The demon lurking inside him, the vampire, was sprung and he had to fight for control. In the fiasco that resulted, innocent lives were lost. Not many, but a few. Among them one of the few people besides himself Fitz truly cared about. His sister. Twelve year old freckled Molly, who'd been too young to remember him any different and always accepted him. She'd been bright and peppery and funny, never resented that he had magic and she didn't. And suddenly, the one bright spot in his life

His memory of that night never really came back, no matter what he tried. he'd been under the control of an external force he'd been responsible for releasing. For all he knew, he could have taken her life himself. She'd certainly been killed by a vampire, but despite all his magical efforts, all his knowledge, he'd never know. It would torment him for the rest of his life. His relationship with his parents, rocky at the best of times, was utterly destroyed. They didn't speak to him again as long as they lived.

Seeking redemption, hating himself, the world, he might then have joined the war effort. But so consumed was he with his anguish, still thinking of himself, he left, traveling, seeking mercenary work, taking it on himself to eradicate those vampires who chose to murder innocents- eventually branching out a bit. Money remained an object, but eventually, as the years passed, his devilish, quirky side emerged again, and, while never forgiving himself., never allowing himself to enjoy the work, he became himself again, to some level.  
He formed alliances. A French girl, Isabeau, would sometimes work with him. Mark, an Australian fellow who sometimes took on bounty hunting jobs (a mark on Fitz's head was how they met) became a mate of his when they ran into each other, someone he could count on for trouble. Mark, several years older than Fitz, had a lovely, brilliant girlfriend, Angela Scott, who he called Angie, a clever witch who could handle any dilemna. He even let an incredibly annoying British bloke named Roger do some paperwork for him sometimes, even if he did come closer to snapping Roger's neck than any other person he'd ever encountered. Excepting Mark, they weren't precisely friends, but they were a start. Life was hard, though, and not terribly enjoyable. Seven years hanging about, chasing down baddies, really honed his brooding skills. Then she came along.

He was five and twenty, tracking a horde of vampires grabbing Muggle tourists in Egyptian crypts, even venturing to grab a few wizards, often Gringotts employees. Voldemort had been gone two years, but that barely registered with Fitz. He'd take these out, move on. But these chaps had been taking so many, he was even allowing himself to have some fun with them.

Black duster swinging behind him, he chased the lone vampire he'd tracked so far down the corridor. "Turn and fight, you blaggard!" he shouted at it (he thought of the feral vamps as its), reaching to the padded black diagonal strap that ran across his chest, selecting a stake without even looking. Of course, vampires could be killed with plenty of things other than stakes, but he hadn't felt like dragging his heavy sword or obvious rapier along, having had to pass as a tourist to get into the crypt. Vampires tended to be resistant to magic, and he wasn't that swell a hand with magic anyway; plus, nothing could get them running like a bloke carrying a stake in his hand, most of them not knowing better than the legend.

The vamp turned, its teeth elongating and face broadening, eyes turning a fixed red as the pupils became cat-like. It was an older one, despite that it didn't look much older than him, Doyle could tell by the way its furrows deepened into a heavy brow. Feeling a funny sensation in his hand, he pulled back his arm and hurled the stake at the snarling vampire's heart, his expertise insuring it entered in the right spot. The vampire, not noticing yet, lunged at him, then went rigid, falling dead before him. Already, it began to seem less solid, it'd be ashes in a matter of minutes.

He left the stake in the vampire, wincing as he examined a black mark where he'd gripped the wood. "I'll kill whoever ordered mahogany stakes," he remarked in his distinctively Irish voice, swearing to punctuate it as he headed around the bend, in the habit of talking to himself.

A few tourists, cameras about their delectable necks, who'd stupidly separated from the main group were being hounded by half a score of the pests, though not the main group. Sighing dramatically but truly trying not to feel excited as his adrenaline pumped, Fitz detached a small crossbow from his belt, fumbling for a bolt to slip in.

Charging forward with a war cry, he shot one in its neck. As he reached for another bolt, he elbowed one circling him from behind with the same arm he'd grabbed the bolt with, then brought his fist down in a hammer to plunge the bolt into the vampire's stomach, not even bothering to turn around. That wouldn't kill it, so he made a quick turn to bend quickly to one knee and plunge the same bolt into its heart. The bolt came out covered in blood, but since it was vampire blood, not human, it didn't even bother him. He slipped it into his crossbow anyway, pulling the trigger just in time to kill a vampire grabbing him from behind. Leaping, he plunged into the full-out fray, pushing a touring boy and his mother out of harm's way. He headbutted a vampire, fangs on, who snarled in his face, then crushed its windpipe with a move called cobras, folding his fingers in and and rapidly jabbing forward with the square part of his knuckles. It was clearly a weak vampire, as his normally augmented strength hitting its throat was enough to kill it, despite that it should be stronger than him in its transformed state. He avoided his own transformed state, distracting himself by turning, trying not to take pride as it became dust.

Sweeping stakes (thankfully just plain oak) out as he let the crossbow drop briefly, he took two at once as they charged at him. He rolled to the ground, dodging a piece of wood thrown at his own heart, and picked up the crossbow as he rolled, shooting straight through a vampire's eye. It crumpled, the bolt having pierced all the way through, dying slowly. Mercifully, Doyle dashed a stake he picked up from a pile of dust through its heart, killing it more quickly. He let the other three go as they fled- he'd follow their trail to the main group.

He turned to the tourists, two adults, a teenage girl, and some young boy. Americans, he thought disgustedly, easily recognizing the accent as they babbled their thanks. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "Shove off," he told the, indicating the direction back. "Get back with your little group, safety in numbers and all that blarney. Sheez, what do you think you're up to, wanderin' about this labyrinth? You lookin' for some mummy to leap out o' the dark and break your pretty little necks? Didn't think so. Skedaddle. And next time ya intend to do one o' these family bonding nancy vacation thingies, head for Walt Disney's mousyland, all right? Feckin' ell," he added belligerently, shaking his head. Turning and scooping up the other stake as he resecured his crossbow, he raced off in the direction the vampires had sprinted off in, their footprints unmistakable in the grime that lined the floor of the crypt. They were heading towards the area of the wizarding tombs, now.

Shouts and a struggle could be heard up ahead. He rolled his eyes. Another tourist to rescue, great. Here was the main horde, then, he figured, as he took in the several scores of vampires up ahead. More than he expected, just swell. He should have brought the stupid sword. Someone in the middle was fighting them, he recognized the blasts of light. He grinned ruefully. So they'd found themselves a magical tourist, swell for them. Maybe the stupid bleater'd actually manage to take one or two of them out.

He moved forward at a run, twirling the stakes in his hand to demonstrate his skill and put them off pace. He stabbed one straight on, twisted, and hit the heart of another with a backhand, then lunged in the opposite direction to slice the sharp wood across the throat of another.

Suddenly he found himself face to face with a very large vampire, from his remaining tan possibly a native Egyptian. Doyle was a remarkably tall, lanky fellow, so this vampire had only a few inches on him, but its build made the creature seem huge. It grinned and shifted, revealing its fangs. He reached to stab it, but it grabbed his wrist, bending it backwards, and having lost the left stake to the chest of another vamp, Doyle's only means of killing it for the moment rested on the hand held in that remarkably fierce grip. Fitzgerald winked, barely noticing the pain in his arm, and using his speed, stepped right onto its almost straight knee, using him as leverage to do an ungraceful flip, more of a midair turn. The result, the large vamp's arm twisted itself, forcing him to release the wizard vampire, leaving the latter free to dust it. A half grin stretched up one side of its face. Bereft of stakes, he grasped daggers dangling from his belt, reluctant to reach for his wand unless he absolutely had to and knowing magic wasn't the best weapon in this situation.

He spun and struck, noticing several vampires moving more slowly than they should do to apparently an Immobulus spell, or perhaps Stupefy, which would have frozen a normal person entirely. An exasperated yell came behind him. A witch then, he mused, grinning, as he casually slit a throat. Always more fun to rescue one of the fairer sex, he thought dementedly.

Someone stabbed him in the shoulder, he barely noticed. It'd heal sooner or later, and he didn't seem to be losing that much blood. His only concern was that it hafd punctured his coat. He liked the coat, he figured it made him look dashing.

A few more kills, and he suddenly found himself looking into a pair of bright blue eyes, a wand at his throat. "Hey," he protested, trying to fend off vampires behind him- he couldn't be sure what curses she'd use, some affected vamps well enough. "Rescuing you here, doll."

The eyes blazed. He guessed she was pretty, though the lighting was bad and he was distracted, not wanting to lunge since she appeared about to fire.

"You're a vampire," she hissed. Oh, wonderful. English to boot.

"Right," he responded dryly, figuring if she could tell, she wasn't all that stupid. He pointed a finger at her. "Witch. See, now everything's clear here." A vampire approached behind her, she elbowed it immediately, knocking it down.

"Don't tell me you're here on purpose!" he said suddenly, with insight that this woman- girl, rather- had not merely stumbled upon a nest of vampires, but rather sought them out.

"Of course I am," she said, turning her wand to fire at oncoming vamps. Her wand safely off his neck, he turned to business.

"You don't fight them with those!" he bellowed. Stupid English witch, getting notions into her head she's some sort of vampire hunter, he thought angrily, shaking his head as he desperately faced off with vampires who were now trying to bash his head in with some sort of large clubs. Once he dodged and stabbed to rid himself of them, he fumbled for a stake, which he tossed her. She caught it, then looked at him as if he was crazy.

"They actually work, hon, unlike your little piece of firewood there," he shouted loudly, taking the chance to jab at her wand, which he knew most witches and wizards (with the grand exception of himself) held to be their most prized possession.

He had the feeling she'd probably glared at him, or stuck out her tongue, or something, but from the scream of a vampire, she was at least using it, if with the clumsy inexpertise of an amateur. There had been more than he was expecting, several scores left, nothing he couldn't handle on his own, but with her around... He'd have to finish them off as quickly as possible- he had no interest in baby-sitting a foolish girl, he'd have to get rid of them quick or have her death on his hands. Bloody hell. He hated the spell he was about to use, hated it. "Listen, lovey, can you put up a shield round the both of us? An awful big one?"

"Stop calling me things!" she shouted angrily. "And of course I can, what the hell do you take me for?"

He had several answers for that, but wisely chose not to voice them. "On my word, do it, all right?" he said, hoping most of this lot was too far gone into their feral nature to understand what he was saying. "Moment I finish the damn spell!" He swept about, eliminating as many as possible until he was practically back to back with the dame. He reached for the farthest side of the belt, reattaching his daggers, not wanting to lose his favorite weapons. He focused his pale green eyes, firmly setting his jaw, then grabbed his wand, immense pain burning into his hand as he grabbed the powerfully magic, fourteen inch witch hazel with dragon heartstring wand. He raised his wand hand high into the air, focusing on the magic and hoping the witch, who'd managed to take out only one or two, was capable of at least holding them off. "Ingensardeo!" he roared, feeling a flash of heat and then a lessening as the witch apparently got her shield up, heard her gasp, breathing hard.

It was a complex spell, elemental magic, summoning of a great fire. Fire could easily kill a vampire, a human more slowly but almost as quickly. He hoped the girl could handle it. All his strength left him with the great spell, and he felt the wand drop from his hand, a roaring filling his ears. His vision began to black out, and he slumped, slowly, to the ground.

A few minutes later, he awoke to water being poured on his head. He woke up, sputtering. "Hell, girl, you could have killed me! Magical water- jeez, if you'd bothered to make it cold, you'd have scalded my face off." He sat up, drenched, the water, lukewarm, stinging only slightly. His dark hair, a medium brown, had lost all its waves with the water, plastered against his head. The fire, typically, had gone out quickly, set not on the ground, but, by the very nature of the spell, on the vampires themselves. Good, the witch wasn't totally hopeless, then, she'd managed a decent shield spell. Weakened but determined not to show it, he staggered to his feet, examining the surroundings. Except for a small clear circle in which he stood, the ground was covered with charcoal black scorch marks, dust piles scattered all across the floor. Naturally, fire turned vampires to dust at once, not taking the usual several minutes.

He rounded to face the witch, who'd apparently cast some sort of lighting spell, as the room had lost a considerable amount of his shadow. She was standing almost as far away from him as possible, wand out, an expression of almost contempt on her face.

"What did you think you were doing?" he asked her, disbelief in his tone. "Walking into a vampire nest, huge horde-"

"So did you," she pointed out, her tone belligerent.

"That's different," he said, pointing a finger at her and waggling it scoldingly. "I'm an expert- heck, I'm one of them. You- what are you, eighteen?" he asked patronizingly.

She drew herself up, offended. She was tall for a girl, maybe approaching 5'11. He had a good head, perhaps even a little more on her, though. She took a step nearer, her face reflecting her dislike of him. "Twenty three," she stated calmly, giving him a once over suggesting he wasn't one to be talking about age. He'd assume she was lying, but he looked at her steadily. She might be telling the truth, he figured.

Along with being tall and her previously noted blue eyes, she had smoky brown hair of a pale shade that fell in loose curls to just past her chin. Her face was angular, slightly too narrow to be called heart-shaped but not quite fitting any other description either. She had high cheekbones, an aquiline nose, a soft mouth suggesting vulnerability, and an entirely stubborn chin that contrasted that notion entirely. She was beautiful, but entirely not his type. English, first of all, second, he tended more for the darker haired, like say, the lovely petite Isabeau, and third he hadn't even spoken with her and he already couldn't stand her. Still, she was beautiful. He smirked slightly, causing her to glare. She had sad eyes, he noted, even when she was angry.

"Let me guess, sweetheart," he drawled. "Your boyfriend broke your heart so now you're plunging yourself into danger to get yourself honorably killed, unless of course he's dead and you're just planning to join him. Or perhaps some vampires went and munched on your family, leaving you a poor little orphan, and now you're seeking your rightful vengeance."

Her eyes flashed, her jaw tightened. "Something like that," she gritted out. Clearly, at least one of his shots had hit the mark. "If you're expecting a thank you, you're not getting one. I felt it necessary to insure you were all right, as you'd damaged yourself on my account, apparently, and since you seem to be capable of making offensive comments, I'll take that as an assurance of your safety and be on my way." She turned on her heel

"Ach," he groaned, reaching to turn her with his burnt hand and only remembering to switch at the last minute. "Look, girlie, I didn't mean it like that, alright? No offense meant, but I'm not going to let you walk out of here if you're just planning to head in search of another big bad."

Her eyes blazed. He was rather used to the eyes of girls reflecting their fascination with him, this was actually a bit of a nice change. 'Course, it was clear she hated him, but that might actually help- better to be able to converse with a female who had no interest in him whatsoever. "And if I am?"

He sighed. "Then I'll be forced to follow you and make sure you don't."

"Try it and I'll be forced to get rid of you," she threatened. "I believe you've just made it overly clear how to rid oneself of a vampire. Unless of course you want to be dust."

He laughed, causing her to frown even more sternly. "No offense, lady, but you couldn't kill me if you tried. Hogwarts doesn't teach you enough to handle the likes of me."  
"

What makes you so certain I went to Hogwarts?"

"Prissy English witch with no idea how to really fight and a penchant for dueling, not to mention the fact that England's been having problems and you clearly have issues? Oh, you're Hogwarts all right, sweetie."

"Stop doing that. I have a name, you know," she said fiercely, offended.

"No, I don't know," he pointed out mildly.

She scowled, crossing her hands across her chest. "Philips."

He nodded. "Fitzgerald," he informed her in turn.

"I don't call people by their surnames," she retorted immediately.

"Don't get my first name until you give me yours."

She simply glared at him, waiting.

"I'm not giving it to you," he said finally, exasperated. "Ah, just call me Fitz, then, you hypocrite."

"Alright then, Fitz. Any chance you'll leave me alone?"

"Not until I know you won't go throw yourself into danger."

"Precisely where I'm heading." She turned on her heel, marching out of the crypt in her dark robes, a poor choice for fighting. Oh well, at least she had sneakers instead of heels- that would have been a lost cause. He had to chase after her- she'd have no idea what she was looking for. He'd deter her, have her off his conscience in a matter of hours. But a nagging doubt in his mind told him it wasn't going to be that easy.

"Dammit," he murmured, wondering what he was getting himself into. "I'm going to regret this..."

He was deeply, deeply, regretting it as he marched through the snow, just over thirteen years since he'd met her. It was entirely her fault he was here- S.A.L.A.M.A.N.D.E.R. had been entirely her notion, he'd wanted nothing to do with it. He had a team now, a whole squad of vampires and one human researcher, reasonably sane ones to boot, some wizards, some not. He, Francis McDormand (the researcher), and Liam O' Connell (his second in command) were trooping through the blinding snow at the behest of Dmitri Dolohov, who'd been disappointed to see Fitz rather than Jenny and sent them in the direction the kidnapper of his mad granddaughter, Tatiana, the niece of the Dolohov who'd wrecked havoc in England over a decade ago. Swell, just swell. Not to mention from the trails they'd been picking up, whatever mad wizard had been fool enough to grab nutsy Tatiana Dolohov and make an undirected Disapparating jump- in the middle of Siberia, for crying out loud- was wanted by others besides just Fitz and company. They were picking up the trails of a large group of vampires, heading in the same direction as them, headed quick. From the bloodied trail of small animals they'd encountered so far, these weren't the play-nice type either. Fitz, who'd laughingly headed to the Floo port scarce hours before, having defeated some nasty sword fighting armor spooks and dismissed offers from the rest of the team to come with him, felt as if he'd been wandering for days, hating the snow with a passion. It didn't help that the last time he'd seen Jenny in person, the last time they'd been able to talk straight with each other- was it really two years ago?- had been winter, and that she'd dragged him- yes, him, Mr. Vampire, as in the boss of a large and dangerous squad he'd formed over the years- outside to make snow angels and just let off some steam. It was far too easy for him to picture her now... no, he would not go there. He would not go there.

He'd been trying to push her out of his mind for a good portion of those past two years. They'd both been shouldered with responsibilities, burdens, and then went that mission went so terribly wrong, when they encountered the Tuatha de Danaan- No. He would not go there. It was bad enough she was back in England, a short skip across the pond from his local base, rather than off somewhere in the Aegean, tracking down all sort of nonsense and demons and avoiding as much of the bureacracy of being the leader of S.A.L.A. as possible. Fitz wondered what she'd actually thought of that letter. He'd never intended to send it, just write it all down and maybe burn it, but he'd finally just sent it. She probably thought he'd lost the last of his marbles. He sighed dramatically.

Liam chuckled, watching his boss ignore obvious footprints as he mulled over his women problems. Liam was stout, especially for a vampire, square shouldered and well built, and paid no mind to the heavy parkas with fur they'd all reluctantly donned.

Fitz jerked his head up. "What's funny?" he asked sharply, glaring down from his very respectable height.

"Women are tricky lil' creatures, aren't they, chief?" Liam said slyly.

Fitz groaned and whipped out one gloved hand to cuff him on the head. "Creatures, they're not. Little, not this one. And tricky- too easily misconstrued and a lot of 'em take offense easily," he commented, face approaching a slight pinkness from the cold, a rarity for the vampire.

"Aha!" said Francis, pointing straight ahead.

The two vampires turned from their early stages of debate to see what the human was indicating. Francis, a thin fellow with a narrow face, wore glasses (though he really only needed them for reading, but while looking fine with them, he seemed ridiculous without them) and did research for the team. With Mark, Fitz's long ago Australian friend, long dead and Jenny and Fitz not being on the best of terms lately, Francis was not only the team's researcher, but Fitz's closest friend. A brilliant wizard, he'd been taught at home by his grandfather, somewhere in Galway. He'd been performing an odd sort of tracking spell which provided a sort of ultraviolet light, allowing them to see footprints already covered up with snow, as well as the traces of shadowy spells. He twirled his wand proudly, sticking it back in his heavy jacket, being bundled quite tightly as he lacked a vampire's resistance to cold.

"Cave up ahead," the researcher said smugly. "And the trail of two spells- one, an Apparation taking place quite near by, and second, a simple location spell for shelter."

"Which leads straight to the cave," Liam said, grinning wolfishly.

Fitz, crouching to the ground, glanced up, incredibly pale green eyes unreadable. "Yeah. But someone beat us to the Russian and the Dolohov girl." He nodded at an area where the residue of Francis' spell remained, pointing out footprints that didn't sink quite so deeply into the ground. He indicated similar tracks left by himself and Liam, compared to the more deeply sunken ones of McDormand. "Only vamps are so agile."

"Not quite," Francis protested, prepared to name several things quite more agile, but then considered that most left no footprints and wisely closed his mouth under Fitz's scrutinizing glare.

Fitz, standing, pulled out his daggers from his sleeves, removing his gloves so as to better use them. The cold didn't bother him as much as the hesitation in his timing due to the heavy fabric would. He didn't quite like this, the Russian must have had some idea where he was going. The cave appeared to be very old, and this being the bloke's home turf, he'd probably selected a place where he could protect himself. "Into the deep, then," he said casually, indicating the small cave, which seemed to dip downward into the earth.

"And the dark," mumbled Francis uncomfortably.

It was Fitz's turn to grin, darting forward to head in first.

Liam sighed, glancing at Francis sorrowfully. "He pays our salaries. We can't let him die."

"Means we have to follow him," the other answered gloomily, looking at the cave desparagingly.

"Oh, hurry up!" Fitz's voice echoed impatiently.

With extreme reluctance, they hurtled through the cave, which had a sloped floor, sending them sliding straight in. Francis pulled out a crossbow, Liam a wicked looking long knife.

"Remember, no matter what the girl does, we can't kill her," Fitz said, not too happy about it.  
"Otherwise your girl will come and dust us?" Liam suggested, knowing of Philip's penchant for protecting innocent lives, no matter how dangerous they may unintentionally be.  
"Well, there's that. But her grandfather would probably blow us up first," Fitz said, cocking his head to the right. The cave was covered entirely with a sheen of ice, and packed from stalactite to stalagmite with heavy snow. An impossibility, a great deal of snow was even clustered at the ceiling. Fitz had a bad feeling about this. Reaching out with his bare hand, he touched the snow lightly. He pulled back, biting his lip, his hand red, raw, and smoking. "Magicked," he whispered, signaling Liam to lace his boots tighter, making sure no part of their skin was available. Fitz, however, refused to replace his gloves. It was bad enough he couldn't bring any of his precious swords for fear of rust, but he would not risk damage to his friends due to any mishaps on his part because he couldn't maintain a proper grip on his slippery daggers, as unavoidably damp as their clothing, due to his stupid, puffy, mitten-like gloves. This presented a danger to both Liam and Fitz but not Francis, not to mention to whatever nutso vamps were also after the "prize". "The girl's work," he pointed out, the idea that this bloke already had the girl managing spells not sitting well with him.

Francis, listening carefully to the distant darkness of the further, downward sloping cave while the vampires prepared, held up a finger, signaling quiet. Fitz, beckoned over, listened with his more finely tuned hearing. "It's the Romanian vampires Voldemort hired," he exclaimed with a distinct lack of emotion.

"How do you know?" Liam asked eagerly, the slightly younger vampire not quite as experienced nor his ears so finely tuned.

Fitz, face pained, turned his head very slowly towards him. "Because they're speaking Romanian."

"Ah. Onward, then?" Liam said brightly, raising his curved dagger in preperation.

"Remember, watch out for the Russian. We don't know much about him," Francis warned. "Or why Voldemort wants him."

"Dead," Fitz added, as they slipped forward, speaking in tones so low even a vampire's ear was hard pressed to catch it. At the other's puzzled glances, he explained, "If the bloke's desperate enough to try for the mad witch, Voldie dearest must want him dead."

As they avoided the spelled snow as much as possible, the vampires sinking into it even worse than Francis as their abilities apparently had no affect on it, they passed several scorched, ill dressed for the weather corpses that had apparently tripped or been pushed into the snow fading into piles of dust. Fitz gave them mock salutes as they walked by, Francis pressing his hand dramatically to his heat. They fell utterly silent, acting at last like the experts they were as voices grew louder.

Crouching behind a particularly large snowbank, they watched the scene before in a huge clearing, where the rock ceiling reached quite high. They must be underground by now, from the sharp incline of their path, the ceiling possibly actually aligned with the above ground.

None of the vampires before them had ever crossed paths with Fitz before (probably a good thing). There was about a score of them, meaning it was only a small portion of the group that had allied themselves with the Dark Lord, if the rumors were true. Most had their fangs visible, their hunting visage in place. A few had dried blood stains trickling down their cheeks ("Well, that explains all the dead animals," Francis murmured). Most, Fitz could tell, were feral. But what caused his chest to fill with anger were the several in the front, impeccably decked out in expensive leather and completely ignoring the cold. Faces hard and cold even in fang form, the front few held wands, wore watches, and tapped their feet impatiently as their leader talked with someone behind a tower of snow. They were sane, all right, wizards too (and one witch), and killing and joining with evil all the same. It took every ounce of Fitz's willpower not to lunge forward and kill them where they stood. A low growl escaped his throat all the same, and he fretted for a second he had slipped into his fang face, something he abhorred, and felt thankful at least that hadn't gotten the best of him. Liam looked equally furious, unable to prevent his own vampiric nature from rising to the surface, but he wasn't Fitz's second for nothing. He stayed in place and remained quiet. Francis simply muttered something about the nature of evil and glared.

The vampire in front shouted something. "Bulgarian," Francis commented. Fitz recognized it as well, though he didn't know the tongue. It was something about Voldemort though, he recognized the words Dark Lord in any language.

The tower of snow melted away, revealing two figures. "A bargain, then," Francis translated the Bulgarian words of the Dolohov girl's captor. "If I bring her to him, I save my life?"

The vampire laughed, saying something akin to perhaps. The mad girl's captor shuddered. He held a wand to her throat, his dark eyes jittery and nervous. His hair had probably once been an impeccable silver, yet for his relative youth (he was a few years Fitz's junior) his hair had gone a shocking white. He wore the remainder of expensive fur robes, his face was good-looking enough despite his broken nose, which was a far worse break than Fitz's own. The man had a hunted, panicked look in his eye. The girl next to him, also in fur robes, had tangled blond hair and brown eyes, which were so blank and wild one only had to look at them to see her madness. She was perhaps in her early twenties, and might have been pretty if not for her hollow cheeks and stringy hair, hanging over her features. Her head jerked up, a fast, animal like movement. She clutched a rag doll in her hands, its head nearly falling off. "Bring me dollie," she pouted in broken English, head circling slightly. "Dollie, dollie, dollie!" she screamed. The cave trembled. Tatiana Dolohov was a witch of incredible power, terrifying even, and she had no reason to control it with.

"You have your doll," hissed the Russian fellow to her in polished English, only slightly accented. His eyes, rather beady, followed her direct gaze right towards where Fitz and his friends were seated.

Fitz froze, eyes watching the ceiling. He, unfortunately, knew what she meant- he'd met her before, with Jen, on a mission years ago. The snow above him looked poised to fall any second, killing them all not just from its weight but with its magical ability to kill vampires. They'd never make it back to the surface in time.

"Oh, dear," muttered Francis.

Fitz jerked. "What's oh, dear? Don't we have enough oh, dear already?"

"I'm quite familiar with the study of these languages, as you know, and the vampires have been talking amongst themselves-"

"What is it?" Fitz demanded.

"We must get word to England. There is a ruse, to distract the attention of Philips and her friends. It appears, unless I have mistranslated, that-"

Too late. The Russian figured out the meaning of 'dollie', before the vampires killed him and simply took the girl as they clearly intended, and his eyes jerked to the snowbank behind which Fitz and the others waited. 'Dollie' did not refer to the rag doll she clutched, which she thought was real and would never call a doll. It was simply a poor pronunciation of Doyle, who she had recognized somehow through her magic. Not allowed a wand, the girl had somehow learned to work without one, and Fitz couldn't be sure the extent of her power or what she was capable of in her childish, constant state of tantrum. As good a man as her feeble grandfather was, the family was rotten- and she was a Dolohov.

"Ah, Fitz?" Francis said rapidly, nervous as the Russian barked out something akin to spies in Bulgarian (the only language he and the vampire leader shared), apparently. The Romanian vampires swiveled as one.

"I hate my life," muttered Fitz, as he grabbed his daggers, taking what little remained of the element of surprise and popping up. With expert throws, he took out two minions, then extended his hands, concentrated on the Summoning Charm, and caught the daggers as they zipped back to his hand. Twirling them, he vaulted carefully over the snowbank. Not fun to fight in knee deep snow that stung even through his heavy pants, he spun and moved as best he could. Unable to kick well for obvious reasons, he had to rely solely on arm reach and his weapons. He managed to shove his way through a bit. A crossbow arrow zipped by him to hit a vampire in the throat, clearly, Francis had been practicing. He turned to slice a vampire who attacked him from behind, able to see Liam gleefully decapitating several more with his gleaming curved knife.

"Into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred," he heard Francis say audibly in an annoyed tone from his firing place behind the iced over snowbank. "Why I let them drag me into such kamikaze-"

"Hey! Theirs not to reason why!" Fitz bellowed at him, taking a leaf from the same poem Francis had used to make a comment about the suicidal pointlessness of this mission (Fitz hardly considered it pointless, and also decided to make it a priority Francis lived, not just because he liked the bloke but because he'd mentioned something about a ruse which endangered Jenny, and anything that endangered her was Fitz's top priority)

The Russian was attempting to form some sort of interesting Disapparating Spell when the head vampire grabbed him by the throat. "Karkaroff," the vampire sneered as he held him against the wall, then continued in Romanian, switching to Bulgarian only when he realized the man couldn't understand his insults.

Fitz threw a spinning dagger at the vampire. With a snarling hiss, the vampire let the Russian fellow drop and turned in time to catch it. Fitz's arched eyebrows rose several inches more. The vampire, spinning Fitz's own dagger, was rounding on him. The others were backing off, forming a circle (around which Liam darted and Francis fired at, dwindling their numbers) around Fitz and their leader.

"That's mine," Fitz said possessively, indicating the dagger. The vampire made a cackling noise, then tossed its wand to one of its fellows, indicating Fitz do the same. He rolled his eyes. Great, the vamp thought it had honor. This was not happening. "Can I have my other dagger back now so I can chop your mangy head off?" he asked politely, extending his hand. The vampire swiped at it. "Apparently not. Not one for banter, are you?" Fitz whipped his dagger forward, clashing it with the Romanian's. There was a split second where they simply applied pressure, trying to force the other to give ground, then they were off again. Fitz had the superior moves, the burlier Romanian more strength. They were of a height, Fitz passing him a bit at five inches over six rather than four.

Fitz slashed the vampire's hand, hoping he'd drop his dagger. He liked that one. Instead, the vamp merely stepped back and licked the blood from his own hand slowly. "Eww," said Fitz, wrinkling his nose, unable to resist the reaction. "Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?"

The Romanian's response was unintelligible to him.

"He said he ate her," Francis shouted unhelpfully.

"Right, then."

The Russian had been whispering in Tatiana's ear, something in Russian. A spell was building power around her, Francis noted, as Fitz would have seen had he not been so distracted. But she was suddenly interested in the fight. Hair drooping into her face, eyes hood, she looked up. "Bad boys," she hissed. "Bad dollie."

Fitz heard that, pausing and giving the other vampire a chance to draw blood from one side of his cheek. He batted it away. Tatiana raised her hands, and Fitz, as he lunged forward, suddenly found himself bounced back as if by an invisible wall. "My dagger!" he protested, as he found himself suddenly, with Liam and Francis, separated form the other vampires. Likewise, the Romanians were separated from the Russian man and mad girl.

"To uncle, sweetheart, to where your uncle is," Francis translated, horrifed. "Fitz, he's getting her to take him to England!"

"With any luck, directly into Azkaban," said Fitz hopefully, knowing that to be entirely impossible, even for the girl. He looked up. "Er, not the immediate problem. Run!" The snow was beginning to drop, and not just the snow. The solid rock ceiling was cracking under the combined force of Tatiana's spells and the curses the wizarding Romanian vampires were hurling to try to reach the vanishing Russians.

The lead vampire was facing Fitz's direction, shouting something even Fitz could comprehend. 'This isn't over!'

Fitz stopped in his tracks, turned around. He pointed up. "I think it kinda is."

Francis and Liam grabbed him, dragging him until he began to run again. He glanced over his shoulder to see rocks and burning snow falling on the vampires, and no trace of either Russian. Ignoring worries for later, he sprinted, heading for the exit. The snow, painful only to vampires, had dampened through his heavy winter gear, searing his skin. Francis, he thought desperately, it wouldn't hurt Francis. He just had to get him clear of the rocks..

With a glance at Liam, the other vampire understood what his leader intended. Both grabbed hold of one of Francis' arms as they ran, lifting him a bit, to his protestations in his lighter lilt, hurling him with all their strength forward as the cave collapsed, the snow Tatiana had hexed along with stones pouring over them. "Find her!" Fitz roared to the stricken Francis, mostly out of harm's way, as he was pulled into the tumult. The last sound he heard, as he drifted off, was his phone starting to ring. Sorry, Jenny, can't take the call right now- bit busy at the moment...


	16. Second Year: Becoming

A/N: in ch. 5, a flashback already took place in second year- post-feast. I skip that rather than retell it, but occurs. You might want to make yourself comfortable- the next three chapters are basically novel length.

_Second year……_

_Remus mused as he heard the latest turn of events. _

_Simpler days. Better ones._

_An age ago, and yesterday………_

"Hiisss," the black cat snarled at Remus, who skeptically raised an eyebrow at it. "Hellion," he told the devilish fiend, locked in its carrier, metal barring its way. The cat, trying a different tactic, opened its pink mouth, broadcasting its meow as it revealed its small, pointy teeth. Lupin looked at the creature with dislike. He was by no means a cat person, and this particular feline had caused them no end of trouble last year. Apparently, cats could see through Invisibility Cloaks, since the pesky pest had trailed them all around the school every time he had a chance. Sirius had declared at the end of last term that he had every intention of poisoning the blasted fiend this year, then launching its carcass from the highest tower. Alice had practically wailed at this and Callie Bell had whacked him. Sirius could not understand why the Gryffindor girls seemed to find the cat so 'adorable', Remus recalled, bemused, hoisting his suitcase and leaving the yowling cat behind him as he headed to the compartment where he was supposed to meet his compatriots. Sirius hated cats (bad experience with a nasty one belonging to dearest cousin Bellatrix, apparently) and matters were heightened since the cat belonged to Philips, and therefore, practically as much to Evans, meaning James, loathing Lily and all things related to her, equally despised the unfortunate puddy. Remus did not envy the feline, considering Potter and Black were both out to get it, and having seen first hand(not to mention heavily contributed) to some of their finest handiwork, he pitied anyone('cept maybe Snape) who got on their bad side.

He picked up the pace a bit, even though he was slightly early boarding the train and the chances were more than slim any of his friends were waiting yet in the compartment they'd staked as their own. Still, he didn't want to run into the cat's owner or anyone who might be with her. She knew his secret, Philips, had since the day he met her. But Evans, who'd certainly be with her, had been involved in the fiasco last year- and she was bloody clever. If she'd guessed... It wasn't that Evans was a bad as James and Sirius made her out to be, but he couldn't bear the thought of her or any of the other Gryffindors giving him funny looks, or avoiding him. Philips didn't, but then she was technically half-Dumbledore, and everyone knew (or at least, could figure out pretty quickly) that they were relatively whacked. Normal as she might be, raised among people like that, of course she didn't care. He sat down, removing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts book from his suitcase. His trunk was already packed in the luggage car, of course, but he kept some extra stuff handy, like most kids. He tried to focus, but gave up after reading the same page three times. They were studying dark beasts this year, having covered hexes and jinxes the last (which had come in remarkably handy for his friends). This didn't help his nerves any. Sooner or later, everyone would figure it out- he'd be unwelcome, unwanted- but apparently, not friendless.

He studied his hands. They were trembling. Disgusted with himself, he slammed the book shut. That was what it really came down to, wasn't it? He was terrified to see his friedns again. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen them over the summer. He'd gotten together with Pete and James practically once a week. And they'd invited themselves to Sirius' house when he was never able to meet them, which had resulted in disaster and a glimpse of a side of Sirius Remus had never dreamed existed. It was a terrifying contrast in his friend that really was not so much of a contrast- at least, the two sides sort of went along, not at all like the boy he was and the wolf inside. One side of Sirius was dark, brooding, and somewhat deadened- the side he hid. The other was bouncing, wild, reckless, and both were dangerous. Sirius was his pal, but Remus feared for him almost as much as he did for himself. What would become of them? Peter and James, they'd turn out all right. But what would happen to Sirius, who could so quickly become so angry, and himself, who was...

And there was the problem. What he was. The subject so tactfully avoided by his friends in letters and summer meetings (unless one counted the blanchings and hurried apologies at the sight of Sirius' father's werewolf pelt rug) could not possibly be avoided any longer, particularly considering at least two of his three friends were possibly the bluntest fellows to ever attend Hogwarts. He'd been horrified when he'd awoken in the Shrieking Shack, with little memory of the previous night's escapade involving a feral werewolf which had been killing residents of Hogsmeade, to discover his three dearest friends, whom he wanted to hide his secret from more than anyone in the world, standing over him. It had been the end of the school year, and Remus had wondered, horribly, whether or not he'd be able to come back and face them next year. And then Sirius summed up their feelings about the wolf, as Remus couldn't help but thinking of as if separate from himself, with one word- 'Wicked'. And not in the sense of a creature of evil, either. His friends had accepted him, utterly. But- it had been the end, and there had been no questions asked, though they were bursting to know. No, that would be this year. Did they, could they, even truly understand what he was. Remus had a horrible feeling that-

His musings were interrupted as a suitcase, positively bursting at the seams and made almost round by its contents, was flung into the compartment. It hit the opposite window, and practically exploded as its considerable contents spewed across the aisle.  
"Tallyho!"  
Sirius Black bounded into the compartment, thrilled beyond words. He barreled into Remus, standing to greet him. He clapped his lupine friend on the shoulder, winding him. "Oy! Rem! WE'RE BACK! We're going back! Ahhaha!" he cackled, sweeping his arms around as he bent to pick up his spilled clothes.

Remus recovered his bearings and looked up, grinning. He froze a bit. Sirius, whose robes had been immaculate and hair Slytherin-sleek at the beginning of last year and when they'd seen him over the summer, was a mess, and looked simply delighted about it. His robes were a bit tattered, several inches too short, and were approaching a dark gray from having clearly been Spell-Cleaned about ten too many times. Sirius himself had gone from an average sized eleven year old to a half a foot taller twelve year old, whereas Remus had hardly grown this year at all. His bangs were a bit too long and he'd already shoved them to the side several times, and his hair, equally, though no less thick or neat (he hated that his hair would never stay messed up), had become quite shaggy. It wasn't very long in the front, but in the back a good bit when at least a quarter of the way down his neck. And Sirius' folks were rich! Remus' might not be that well off, but his mother had, caringly and with precise Severing charms, trimmed his sandy brown muss, and made a great effort to keep him presentable with tidy robes. He looked at Sirius worriedly, with the concern of a good mate.

Sirius, shoving stuff back into his suitcase in bunches, was jabbering on about something. Remus interrupted, helping him put some stuff back. "What happened?"

"How you mean?" said Sirius in one breath. "What happened to me, why isn't James here yet- that could mean a lot of-"

"Why is all your stuff jammed into this and not your trunk?"

"No trunk this year," Black said flippantly. "Too heavy."

"Real reason?" Remus asked him, giving him a look.

Sirius' entire demeanor shifted. He straightened, his bangs falling across his face and casting a shadow across his warm brandy brown eyes, which suddenly seemed far blacker. "The old man wanted to ship me off to Durmstrang, thought they'd kick some sense into me. I... refused. So Mother said fine, if I didn't want what was best for me, I could take care of myself and they'd see me next summer." He resumed his more swaggering posture, and continued. "Figure I've got about a week before she checks my closet, realizes I didn't take any of the prissy new green-and-silver lined robes and realizes I'm dragging the Black name through more mud than she figures on it already and has a hissy fit. Expect even more Howlers than last year. Got any ideas about those? Never mind, better wait for James, he'll flip if we start anything without him. I passed Peter's mum on the way in, so he's here, probably forgot which compartment were meant to meet in. Oh, and you and Puppy gave Wintergreen such a fright he's gone and quit, heard they hired some dame."

"Wait- Puppy?"

"Oh, that chappy we hunted down last year, wassisname."

"_Puppy_?"

"Yep, Puppy. I reckon it suits him."

"You're mad, you know that." It wasn't a question.

Sirius beamed. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Falstaff was a good Potions Master," Remus bemoaned.

"Ah, he was a duffer. He liked Snape, that in itself can pretty much condemn him entirely," Sirius dismissed.

"In your eyes."

"Yeah, condemned in mine and James'. And we four- we're the ones whose opinions matter. So what's it like to be a werewolf?" said Sirius, giving him a glance full of curiosity.

Remus, shocked by the abrupt change of topic, managed to choke on the air. Sirius whacked him on the back, trying to help, and unsurprisingly, not helping. They both looked up, startled, as Lily Evans opened the sliding glass door and walked in from the opposite side they'd both entered from, barely refraining from tsking at them. "Have you seen Jenny?" she asked them quickly, not even bothering to trade insults with Sirius.

"Erm, no. Saw her demon," Sirius said, shrugging.

Lily's bright green eyes narrowed in annoyance, her wavy dark auburn hair tossing impatiently behind her. "Translation?" she asked the recovering Remus.

"Cat," he coughed, relieved Sirius had apparently forgotten his earlier inquiry.

"Excaliber?" Lily asked. "Where?"

They pointed simultaneously. She brushed by them, nodding an almost- thank you as she hustled through.

"Stupid dratted thing," Sirius shuddered.

Remus looked at him bemusedly. "Evans or the cat?"

"Oh, I meant the cat, but in consideration, it could apply to either- "

The word was not Bang. The sound of this particular spell, shouting out of that particular wand, was Thwoop. While a thwoop may not sound like a particularly threatening onomatopoeia, when it is remarkably loud and in the compartment right next door, it is. They both jumped.

"What in the name of Nundu is that?" Sirius demanded, invoking the name of the most dangerous beast in the wizarding world according to Newt Scamander, a common, if not particularly strong, oath found among denizens of the more pure-blooded, darker lines.

"Can't be James- he'd never be this early," mused Remus. "The Prewetts aren't typically that loud- though I'm sure they could be, I thought Fletcher graduated-"

"Held back, could be him-, possibly Stebbins," Sirius picked up his trail of thought, "or- sheez, Peter, what happened?" His tone was suddenly one of brotherly concern as their comrade stumbled in, hair aflame. Remus lifted his wand, putting the flame out with a jet of water.

"You okay?" Lupin asked his friend.

Peter's face was a bit soot covered. "Well, I found the right compartment," he said happily, looking about . "Er, my hair-"

"Short," said Sirius, quickly severing off some burned areas and deciding not to tell his chum about the several bald patches on the top , "but it looks alright, and it'll grow." Business like, he brushed his hands against his robes. "Who did this? Avery? Lestrange? Rosier?" His voice dropped to almost a growl. "Snivellus?"

"Your cousin," said Peter, but he didn't tremble, sounding actually more bewildered.

"Bella's dead," Sirius snarled, gripping his wand.

"No, the blonde always with Malfoy last year."

"Narcissa?" he exclaimed, entirely suprised. He dropped his wand, then had to grab it quickly before it rolled under a seat. "Didn't think she knew who my friends were, much less had the gumption to attack them. Jeez, she's a seventh year, wonder if I can take her. Least her boyfriend, no, ahem, fiance, isn't around to attack us this time. Er, why did set your hair on fire? I mean, I suppose I can see her setting on fire the hair of some girl who was wearing it the same way, but your hair's brown and-"

"She wasn't aiming for me," Peter said absently, rubbing his ear, which was slightly red from its proximity to the flames, as if sunburned.

"Ah," Sirius said, blinking. "Yet you somehow managed to get away."

"Might have something to do with the green goo in her eyes," said Peter sagely.

It was Remus' turn to blink, wide-eyed. "Pardon, once more?"

"Green goo. In her eyes."

"Which, erm, got their how?"

"Charm of Evans'," Peter said, studying his reflection in the window and bobbing his head about to get a better view of his hair.

"Evans? What's she doing-" Sirius paused, abruptly. "Peter, is there a CATfight going on?"

"Yes, how'd you guess?" said Peter, looking bewildered.

Remus and Sirius exchanged looks and raced for the compartment door, just as the train started to move. A few compartments down, there was a fight going on- and, it was quite literally, a cat fight, considering Philips' pet was right in the mix of it. Peter's confusion obviously lay in figuring Sirius had literally guessed the subject of the fight.

Andromeda Black was shouting at Narcissa, dragging her older sister, furious due to her lack of vision, away from the fight. There was very little sisterly love lost between the pair. Evan Rosier, a handsome Slytherin who actually had some notion of honor also in his second year, was standing nearby, using the intimidating form of third-year MacNair to duck behind. He seemed uncertain whether or not to step in. Stebbins, a Hufflepuff second year and sometime confederate of James and company, was helping Alice Anderson bash some fourth year Slytherins, both sending their suitcases flying about with shouts of Wingardium Leviosa (possibly the only spell Stebbins recalled from the previous year). The most interesting portion of the fight lay closer to the fire in the center of it. Bellatrix Black, a hefty claw mark on her cheek, was grappling with Philips, who had the back of her hair on fire. Obviously, she'd noticed. Evans was hurling curses (not the words, the spells) at Rodolphus Lestrange, a wiry third year near the top of his class often found near 'dearest Bella'. He could be heard shouting 'Mudblood' which only seemed to rile her up more. He should technically know far more spells than her, but Evans was a veritable expert on Charms (so James and Sirius had learned, alas, the hard way). Snivellus was lurking nearby, apparently doing something, though it was unclear precisely what. Terrified first years were fleeing, squealing, except for one yet to be sorted by named Davy Gudgeon, who, with absolutely no idea whatsoever how to use a wand, decided to try to help the pretty girls (he assumed, wrongly, that Bellatrix was on the same side as Lily, Jenny, and Alice). He was knocked out instantly, which would become, all too often, the story of his life.

"Oh. Dear," said Remus blithely.

Such conflicts, unusual though they might be in a different day and age, were all too common. In a world full of rapidly rising tension and deepening prejudices, Remus had learned, early in his first year, that scraps were terribly common- particularly between older Gryffindor and Slytherin students. He'd been involved in a few himself- not willingly, of course. This, while it may have seemed rather large, encompassing the number of students, particularly girls, that it did, was actually rather minor in comparison to a tussle he'd witnessed last year between then- seventh year Lucius Malfoy and cronies, against a then-seventh year Gryffindor named Dawlish and a then-sixth year, burly, dark-skinned Hufflepuff called Shacklebolt. Remus winced as he recognized a particularly nasty tongue-splitting curse fly by. Business as usual, these days.

"Fighting on the train? Even we know better than that- it gets you expelled!" Sirius exclaimed. Then he noticed the claw mark, the cat attacking ankles, and froze. "Oh. Dear," he echoed Remus' earlier remark.

Remus turned on him. "What did you do?" he asked curiously.

"Sirius couldn't have done anything, he wasn't around," Peter piped in.

"Exactly!" said Sirius triumphantly.

Remus gave him a withering stare. "This much chaos, it has to be you. And don't even think about getting involved, if James hears you were in a fight and he missed it, he'll kill you. Probably won't speak to you all night, which means all hopes of using the Invisibility Cloak tonight are killed, which is far worse than your imminent death."

Sulkily, Sirius slouched and muttered, "I let him out."

"You let..." Remus' and Peter's eyes flicked to the absolutely insane cat, then their inane friend. "HIM out?"

"He was crying!" Sirius protested. "I don't like cages!"

"Oh, for..." Remus paused, his ears quirking, a surprisingly wolf- like motion. His gray eyes widened.

"The train's moving," Peter observed unnecessarily.

The three exchanged glances. They somehow all knew, absolutely, positively knew (it helped that he was attracted to trouble like a magnet and that if he were on the train he would be here) that James Potter was not on the Hogwarts Express- and that he had every intention of being on the Express, which meant he was probably horrified right now. James had the unfortunate tendency to be always late for everything (except for every meal), typically just by a bit. He'd barely caught the train last year, and only Remus had known him at the time. This time, a year older, supposedly wiser- he'd apparently missed it.

"Oh. Dear." The trio swiveled at the voice, hoping it was Potter, to find, instead, the Prewett brothers, robes bulging with candy that it was doubtful they had purchased. Fabian had spoken, apparently, but it was hard to tell. Both appeared stricken. Gideon, dimples disappearing as his lips turned downward, stood now equal at height to Fabian, though he'd soon pass him, and the two, though so different in features yet such identical expressions, appeared almost like twins.

Gideon was the first to react, swiveling without a word and turning back the way he came.

Philips, at that moment, socked Bellatrix, who was throttling her, in the nose.

"What idiot taught Philips how to punch?" Sirius exclaimed.

Gideon turned back with grace, as if he'd never turned away, wincing. "My act of idiocy, apologies all around- oh, shizza, the kiddo's hair's on fire." He clapped his hand to his eyes, dismayed.

"'S'all right, Evans put it out," Fabian assured him calmly, looking remarkably bemused.

They paused, at the exact same moment cocking their heads down right as Lestrange flew backwards.

"Say, we should probably do something. Conductor'll kick 'em off the train, and then they're in for it."

"Yeah, happened to Gid, first year," Fabian added for the benefit of the Gryffindors. "You don't really get expelled, that's codswallop to scare you from blowing things up." The trio stepped back, warily. The word Evans could supply them with that they were searching for to describe Fabian in a bad mood was 'pyromaniac'.

"Er, Fab, really, I think we should do something," Gideon said emphathetically. In a few years, he'd snap out commands and anyone would listen, but now he still answered to his older brother- for now.

"Oh, really need we bother- Bloody hell! That's Andy!" said Fabian, horrified as his eyes locked on his on- again, off-again (currently on- again) girlfriend, and cousin to the boy he was standing next to. He ran a hand through his golden hair, and his blue eyes wandered, then snapped up and met his brother's flint ones.

"And James isn't on the train!" Peter wailed, reminding Remus and Sirius, who jerked to startled attention.

"Potter not on the train?" Gideon Prewett mused. "Now that must be a crime against nature. Pettigrew, go see if you can locate him, will you?"

"Gideon, he's not on the train," Fabian emphasized, glancing towards his girl.

"Out a window or something," Gideon said dismissively.

"We'll take care of the fight," Sirius volunteered. Remus groaned.

Gideon shrugged. "Suit yourself. We have business to attend to." As a unit, they turned, swiveled and sprinted.

Peter, after a departing glance, headed in the opposite direction, winding around the chaos to the back of the train. As he neared the very back, a place he certainly wasn't allowed to be, he fumblingly cast a spell to augment hearing from this year's Charms book. He wasn't sure whether it was really working, but he swore he could hear a bellowing voice, "No, come back! Come baaaaaackkk!"

Meanwhile, Sirius grinned, the devil may care grin that Remus had come to know and fear, and pulled out his wand, running his finger along its wood almost lovingly. He leaped into the ruckus, only to be immediately blown back by a blast of red light. "What the-what the-" He looked at his hand. "My wand!" he yelped, searching frantically.

Remus had caught it as it soared away from Black. "Disarming Spell," he analyzed, a spell he didn't actually know but had heard of.

"Now I'm angry," Sirius grumbled. "Ready, Moony?"

Remus gave him a look. "What did you call me?"

"Nevermind. Go!" Sirius jumped into the fray, knocking Lestrange down again. Rosier, watching, with a resigned sigh which seemed to suggest they'd ruined his entertainment, suggested Macnair reach in and fish his year-mate out. The muscle-bound boy, taller even than Sirius, glared disappointedly, heaved a sigh, and yanked Rodolphus out.

"I'll kill the Mudblood," he swore.

"Don't say that," Evan reprimanded. He didn't need to give a reason. Rosier was good, very, very good, and everyone knew it, whatever house, whatever year they belonged to. One had to give the fellow his due. If there was any Slytherin one could have hope for, it would be Rosier. No one knew, then, that he would become the most devout, and the most deadly, of all the Death Eaters to serve Voldemort. The one who would sit at his right, and who would die rather than deny his Lord or surrender.

"Knock it off, Bella," Sirius sneered at his slightly older cousin. Immediately, she backed away from Philips, Evans, and Anderson, spotting far more interesting prey.

"Aw, if it isn't little baby Siree, come to stand up for his little girlfriends," she said mockingly, the way any thirteen year old could tease a cousin, but with dark malice in her eyes, scarily like her cousin's. She was a lovely girl, Bellatrix Black, with her flashing, hooded eyes, fair, nearly translucent skin, light build, and especially her long, blue-black hair, darker even than Sirius'. Her features were classical, like his. Anyone looking at the pair could see they were relatives, enough even to perhaps mistake then for brother and sister. Sirius hated that. He wanted nothing to do with any of them. The only people he loathed more than her were his parents.

But he'd learned he couldn't show that hate. No, there was only one way to get to Bella. He laughed, his head shaking equally mockingly and his lips pulling back to reveal his glinting white teeth, barely more smile than sneer.

"Does precious cousin Sirius find something amusing?" she asked more dangerously, her voice rising and falling as if speaking in iambic pentameter.

"You know what, Trixie, dear?" he inquired, having to fight to maintain his jovial, wild side, which she knew was far more difficult to pierce his emotional armor in. "You're in dreadful need of a personality transplant."

It wasn't particularly funny, but Evans had snapped the exact same phrase (a Muggle one, apparently, Sirius wasn't quite sure what a transplant was but assumed it similar to transfiguration) at James last year, and it caused all three girls, and, yes, Remus, to break into a hysterical riot, which led all non-Slytherin bystanders to follow suit contagiously. Bellatrix hated nothing more than being laughed at. Her fair face practically turned blue in rage. It, effectively, paused the fight.

"Something wrong?" a man dressed in a uniform which matched the train's scarlet asked, having heard loud noises. He surveyed the destruction of this compartment, the hysterical children, and the very large, very angry cat which immediately set about destroying his pant cuff.

The Slytherin watchers slinked away, except Macnair, Rosier,and Lestrange, and much of the crowd backed up.

"No, sir," said Remus, fighting back his laughter. "We were playing a game of Exploding Snap, sir, and Miss Black here was a bit angry when she lost, accidentally touched off the whole deck, sir. Sent the cat into a frenzy, and a few people's hair on fire, caused a bit of a disaster, I'm afraid, but it was terribly, terribly funny, sir." It had to be the sirs that did it. The Hogwarts Express man, who had taken their tickets, allowed himself a twitch-smile, asked a few others if this was true, and they nodded sullenly.

"Vacate this compartment, and we'll have this cleared up. We'll talk to the Exploding Snap, was it? company about this incident. Who did the deck belong to?"

"Me, sir," said Sirius, faking sheepishness.

"Name?"

"James Potter."

Giggles were forcibly restrained by hands clapped over mouths, especially among the Hufflepuffs. Stebbins had to duck under a seat to chortle privately.

It was at that moment that the fruit of the Prewett's labors came to be. The word wasn't whooomph. The _experience_ was whooomph. It came as a bright white light, rushing over them, and a slight sensation of heat, followed by a loud noise resounding near the front of the train.

Somehow, no one thought it was a pack of Exploding Snap Cards.

An entire compartment had disappeared, detaching the back of the train from the front. Conveniently, it had been the one belonging to the prefects, which they had yet to occupy. It would never be suspected that the Prewetts, the elder of whom was a prefect, would destroy a compartment they had free access to. They had 'stolen' an entire compartment off the Hogwarts Express, instant legend. In truth, it had as much to do with stopping the train for Potter and keeping friends out of trouble as it had to do with Fabian being miffed at the small, ordinariness of the compartment, which he felt should be larger and more extraidonary, considering all the good behavior it took to become one. It was unclear whether the prefect's compartment had actually exploded (lack of debris) or actually ceased to exist (a magical impossibility, for anyone, no matter how skilled in the art of theory.) It was Fabian's work. Gideon had taken the opportunity to rob the Slytherins of some of their better possessions, including a first edition Nimbus 1000 (quite recent, a brand only out five years) gifted to Narcissa Black (who could not ride a broomstick) with an inscription from 'your loving Lucius'. They were, after all, not pranksters. They were excellent thieves, nothing more. Anything else was an afterthought.

It took an hour to fix everything (apparently, it had screwed up the magic of the train). It took half an hour for the Prewetts, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, aided by the fact that Peter had located the distance of James ages back (he and his father, Henry Potter, were chasing the train) to get off the train, collect James and his belongings, and get him back, after getting hearty handshakes from James' father, who thanked them mostly because in about another two minutes James would have mounted his broomstick and probably killed himself trying to catch up to the far away train.

James let his trunk drop as he saw the devastated compartment, right onto Sirius' foot, as his friend was holding the other end and could not sustain the remarkable weight alone. "I missed something, didn't I," he practically wailed.

They passed Marlene McKinnon, fixing a black eye Evans had received with an excellent healing balm, while Callie Bell improved Jenny's hair, which had gone from nearly halfway down her back to barely brushing her shoulders, but showed no indication that the missing hair had been burned away. James gaped at that. "Your mother said she wasn't ever going to let you cut it!"

"Yes, well, don't tell her until you have to," Philips sighed.

Sirius gave the evil eye to the black cat purring, curled up in Alice Anderson's lap. "Bad kitty," he scolded.

"The cat did that?" James demanded.

"Kinda," Peter told him.

"I miss all the good stuff!"

"Wait till you hear what the Prewetts did," Remus added.

James' head jerked up, unsettling his glasses. "Whatever it is, we've got to top it," he insisted.

Remus and Sirius exchanged looks. "Er, let me tell you," Sirius began, then thought better of it. He clapped an arm over James' shoulders as they headed into the compartment they'd selected. "Nah, there is too much. Let me sum up..."

It was hours later when they arrived at their destination, more than slightly behind schedule. Sirius began to bound out, suitcase in tow, then paused, a thought occurring to him. "No boats!" he whined. "No fair, no fair! I never got a chance to knock Moony in the lake."

"What?" said James quickly.

"Don't call me that," Remus added, looking hurridly around.

Sirius waved their concerns away. "Just tell anyone who asks that James pantsed you over the summer and now I won't stop calling you that."

There was a pause while they digested that.

"O-kay," said Peter slowly, giving Sirius a look. "Anyway, I'm just glad you don't have another chance to knock me, James, and Lily into the lake again."

"I went in too," Sirius protested.

"You enjoyed it," James accused.

"Yeah, point- Salazar!" Sirius exclaimed, the curse he was used to escaping his lips and betraying his suprise.

"Carriages without horses," said James, not terribly impressed. "Really, I was hoping for winged horses."

"With-out - horses?" Sirius said jerkily, staring at the empty space in front of the carriages.

"Uh-huh," Peter said patiently.

"None of you see- anything?" he asked a bit desperately.

"Stop trying to make us think you're mad, Black," said James rather teasingly. He punched his friend in the shoulder. "We already know that."

Sirius smiled queasily. "Oh, great, maybe I am actually nuts," he mumbled quietly. "It's like Stebbins keeps saying- it's a fine line between genius and insanity." He blinked at the sight before the carriages again, as if to insure he actually saw it, then trailed after his friends closer to the carriages, looking longingly at the boats in the distance, where Hagrid was yelling, "Firs' years, firs' years!"

James, ahead, was arguing with Evans, Remus attempting to insert some rationality into the 'conversation'. Sirius, eager, bounded forward.

"This isn't happening!" James yelled at the sky.

"Ahem, Pete, 'xactly what isn't happening?" Sirius asked him.

"Five girls, four to a carriage, drew straws, Lily got stuck out."

"Drew straws?" Sirius puzzled.

"Muggle concept, Remus says," the smaller boy assured him.

"The Prewetts have got a carriage right there."

"They won't take Evans. Sorry, but they want to talk business."

"I'll ride with the Prewetts!" Sirius volunteered, raising his hand like in class. Not that he ever willingly raised his hand in class.

James' look of horror tripled, if possible. "No," he hissed. "That means I'm stuck with her!"  
"I'm standing right next to you!" Lily said, straining to stay polite and above him.

"Then you go with the Prewetts," Remus suggested, finally able to get a word in.

James looked rather disappointed. "Oh. I suppose that does work out nicely, then."

"I'll make them pay for this," Lily swore under her breath as she climbed into the carriage. She ended up next to Remus, who was all right but never did anything to stop the damaging antics of Potter and Black. Across was Peter, who was sweet, but then there was Black, who was fidgeting impatiently and shooting her annoyed looks. She cleared her throat softly, folded her hands, and crossed her ankles. This was going to be a long ride...

Sirius practically threw himself out of the carriage the moment he had a chance, both because of Evans and the beasts pulling it that apparently only he could see. He seriously considered kissing the ground of Hogwarts, so relieved was he to be back. What stopped him was McGonagall standing in front of him.

"Hello, Minerva," he said sweetly, and McGonagall got that odd expression she got only around him which seemed to suggest she'd like to lock him in a cupboard and never, ever let him near her again.

"I would not like to take points away from my own house on the first day of school, Mr. Black."

"My apologies, Professor McGonagall," he said, grabbing her hand and kissing it before she could object. She looked less than thrilled, and might have grabbed his ear and pulled him off for a discussion, but then her eyes alit on a sight previously only seen in her worst of nightmares. Her face went an unusual shade of red.

Together, Gideon Prewett and James Potter stepped out of the carriage, James very distinctly saying, "So, it's a deal, then?" and offering his hand, which Gideon took firmly and pumped up and down. McGonagall pushed past Sirius, saying, "Excuse me," her face showing her emotions all too clearly.

Sirius snickered slightly. Peeves dive bombed him, but his reflexes, if not as superior as James', were excellent- he ducked.

He shook his head, the entirety of the events on the train seeming like a wild dream. Things were rarely so crazy, even in the wizarding world. Nerves were on edge, even among the kids. Sirius dismissed the idea of trouble brewing around the entire country, because, if he allowed himself to think like that, the fight lost all its humor. When even the girls of opposing houses were at each others throats... then you knew you were in trouble, and Sirius was just beginning to realize that. He refused to acknowledge it, turning his thoughts instead to the food. He linked arms with his pals, and headed in to dinner.

Except dinner wouldn't start. James drummed his fingers against the table. Did it take this long to cross the lake when they were first years? It certainly didn't seem this long a wait, but then, he hadn't been doing the waiting, he had been swimming to the nearest boat after being knocked into the water by who he considered to be a half-mad, destined for Slytherin blight who seemed, for some reason or another, to actually have an acutely developed sense of humor. He looked at his best friend, by his side. Funny how things worked out...

Ah, there they were. The ickle firsties. At least one was soaked from the lake. James practically cackled at the thought. A whole bunch of wet behind the ears, new victims, tools for his influence- influence of good, he added hastily, feeling his thoughts sounded a bit too evil for his own liking. He'd made a deal with Prewett for excellent shipments, including a brand new product, not on the open market yet, called Filibuster's Fireworks. They'd even given him a sample. He grinned, then his grin broadened further as the Sorting Hat was set out. The first years peered at it curiously. Oh, it had been great, grabbing a few on the train and telling them of the horrors of the Sorting. One had actually sounded thrilled and...no. Couldn't be. It was the wet kid. James rolled his eyes. The little wanker had probably dived in the lake. Taking a closer looking, he was getting a telling off- he actually might have! Better go to Gryffindor, that one.

The Sorting Hat, at long last, opened its flap, causing a few squeals from whispering first year girls.

_I've seen the world since it was new  
And much to my surprise  
Happenings are much the same  
Hardly different to my eyes_

For eons upon eons  
No wondrous change was made  
Spells handed down from year to year  
How quick it all did fade

Then four bright lads and lasses  
Came up with a notion grand  
To found a school to teach  
The best and brightest in the land

Agog, aghast were elders  
Accustomed to their ways  
The errancy of wizardry  
A teaching all their days

Too clever for their own good  
Too ambitious and too sly  
Brave and bold, but reckless  
Fools, they'll fail as years go by

Yet Hogwarts' founders laughed it off  
They'd done a mighty deed  
Their powers passed as legacy,  
Knowledge preserved; they did succeed

So now it's up to you good chaps  
To carry on their ways  
So put me down upon your head  
And to the future gaze

You may do best in Gryffindor  
Where only the bold are found  
Perhaps you'll be a Ravenclaw  
Who for brilliance are renowned

The proud who seek great power  
May find their way to Slytherin  
True Hufflepuffs, hard workers,  
Find justice they seek therein

You're one of these, there is no doubt,  
So hurry up my friends  
The sooner that you put me on  
The sooner you'll eat when this ends!  


"Bravo to that!" Sirius and James yelled together, applauding loudly. The first years stared, then started clapping, too. The hat looked rather pleased, and Remus would have sworn it winked at him.

"You get the feeling that was a bit directed at us?" Remus asked his friends.

"The food part, yes," James said fervently, and Peter and Sirius nodded.

"I meant more the part about the 'good chaps' and living up to the founders and-"

"Sssh!" James hissed. "Wet kid, it's the wet kid."

"Someone fell in the lake?" Sirius asked eagerly.

"I think he dove in," James amended.

"Even better!"

"Missed his name because you were talking," Remus moaned.

"Gudgeon, Davy," Peter supplied. Sirius, delighted, ruffled his hair, only to find it too short to really ruffle.

"Gryffindor!" the hat pronounced, and the table exploded, James and Frank Longbottom, a fourth year, cheering louder than anyone.

James pushed Callie Bell, who was on his left, as far over as he possibly could, impatiently clearing a space.

"Urgh, Potter!" she complained, dismayed, her honey blond hair, lighter than her older brother's darker shades, swinging over her eyes, spelled to look a near-violet shade. Callie Bell would never be a particularly pretty girl, but she would always be found quite attractive. Her brother, Alex, an easily excitable Quidditch player, had the better looks of the family, to his dismay, and had certainly gotten in plenty of fights over being called a 'pretty boy'.

James, his thoughts drifting to that brother, realized getting on the bad side of Callie was not a good idea. Alex adored him, of course, had been pushing to get him on the team since he was a first year ('What do you mean you won't let him play, Professor? Well, I know we already have a Seeker- yes, I know he's a seventh year, Professor! But Potter's better and I want to win! Say, why are you looking at me like that?'). But he was also fiercely protective of his kid sister, despite his disgust of her loathing of Quidditch, and James was not about to take chances. "My apologies, Callie," he said profusely, shoving Sirius to the side instead. His friend, distracted by staring at some older Hufflepuff girls, let out a yelp of protest, almost like a bark.

He then lifted his head up, and beckoned the kid barrelling over to the Gryffindor table to sit between them. Lily Evans, noticing this from a few seats down, sighed. A poor first year, being seated between Black and Potter. Doomed, unless she rescued him. "Potter!" she snapped. James' head jerked around as if pulled on a string, taking on that automatic Who me? look. "Leave the first years alone."

"I'm not going to hurt the ickle firsties!" James said, crossing his heart, his hazel eyes wide and innocent behind his silver glasses.

"No, you're simply going to influence them-"

"Making them good and loyal Gryffindors, like us!" Peter piped up.

"We are the souls of innocence and virtue!" Sirius swore.

Frank Longbottom, within hearing range, guffawed loudly.

Sirius blinked. "Well, I am, anyway," he amended.

The other fourth year Gryffindors also seemed to find this amusing.

"Are you really going to be a bad influence on me? Mum thinks this entire school is going to be a bad influence on me, but my pa thinks I'm going to be a bad influence on the school," the young boy said cheekily. He was round-faced, stockily but sturdily built, and slightly on the short side, and his dirty blond hair stuck straight up. He was soaking wet, seaweed clinging to his robes, and he was looking about in wonderment. "Never seen anything like this before. Didn't think magic existed outside of comics. Boy, this is great. Talking hats, star ceilings- oh, I'm Davy Gudgeon. Hey, I know you! You said there was going to be a troll to fight!" he said accusingly to James.

"Rite of passage, mate," Sirius said, draping an arm over the kid's shoulders. "Personally, I was told you'd have to sit down and take an exam." He shuddered. "Well, felicitations are in order- congrats, boyo, you're in Gryffindor, and we're the best."

"Not in Quidditch," Callie Bell pointed out.

James scowled. "That changes this year."

"Not in grades," she continued.

Lily and Remus both frowned severely at her. Alice laughed, fluttering her hands dismissively and yet cheerily. "Just because the Ravenclaws have a reputation for cleverness doesn't make them the smartest."

"That's exactly what they're Sorted for, though. We're just the bravest."

"You asking for a transfer?" Sirius asked her brusquely.

"No."

"Then shut your trap."

Callie glared at him, then pouted. She was an odd one. Her brother was a far more likeable character.

"Ignore her," James and Sirius chorused. "We all do," added Pete.

"Who are you gents, anyways?" Davy asked eagerly, looking at them adoringly.

James tapped himself, then began to point. "James Potter, the dark haired one's Sirius Black, that there's Remus Lupin, and this is Peter Pettigrew… "

Sirius grinned at Gudgeon in a very friendly way. No reaction to the Black name, meant he was Muggle born- he liked the kid all ready.

"And who are the ladies?" Davy said seriously, nodding his head downward. Alice tittered.

"Oh, they're not ladies!" James scoffed. He found five pairs of eyes suddenly fiercely focused on him. He ignored that. "They're just girls, not worth talking about."

"If the food was here yet, I'd throw something at you," Philips said scathingly.

"Food," said Sirius mournfully.

"Quiet, I can't hear the Sorting!" Callie hissed.

"Oh, like you're listening," James said, rolling his eyes.

"Llewellyn, Diomedes," called McGonagall.

A young, dark-haired boy with a very sad face sat down. Gideon and Fabian Prewett, meanwhile, had bolted to attention, and stood up, hands over their hearts.

"Ravenclaw!" yelled the hat, and the Prewetts went berserk.

"Llewellyn," Remus mused. "I've heard that name.

James had frozen, now he gripped Sirius' arm and hissed. "Do you know who that is? Do you know who that is? That's 'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn's son- and he just went to Ravenclaw!"

"The guy who got eaten by the Chimaera a few years back?" Sirius wondered.

"No! Well, yes, but he played for the Catapults! Famously flew like a madman! Helped lead his team to victory in the European Cup sixteen years ago!"

"Not to mention got himself eaten pulling one of those stunts," Remus added.

"And his son just went to Ravenclaw!" James hissed, horrified.

"First years can't play," Peter reminded him.

"I'm thinking ahead," James retorted. "We need somebody good."

"I'll play," Davy volunteered. "But what's Quidditch? Is it like football?"

James and Sirius looked at him with abject horror, then both began to speak at once.

"See, there's five balls-"

"Seven players-"

"And there's three called Chasers-"

"Players, not balls, they play with the Quaffle-"

"Which is red and about the size of your head-"

"Sssh! Two kids just got into Gryffindor and you didn't even cheer. Now be quiet and be nice. And let poor little Davy sit near his fellow first years- how would you feel if some older students isolated you?" Evans hissed.

"Pretty good, if it was an older student like me," James said smugly.

"In which case you never would have spoken with your three closest friends?" Evans added matter-of-factly.

James considered. "Gudgeon, switch seats with Sirius and make nice with the other ickle firsties."

"But-" Davy began uncertainly.

"What?" James said impatiently.

Davy lowered his voice. "There's a ghost sitting over there."

"Oh, that's just Nearly Headless Nick," Peter told him.

"Nearly Headless?" said Davy, his voice rising. "How can you be nearly headless?"

"Ask him," Sirius said, clapping his shoulder as he slid back onto the bench beside James.

McGonagall rolled up her parchment and pulled the hat away, the Sorting finsihed.

"You're so rude, paying no attention at all. You don't even know the names of the new Gryffindors," Callie Bell whirled on them, from the other side of James.

"Maggie Muldoon, Hogan Stump, Barry Ollerton, Davy Gudgeon, Boniface Clagg, and Wilhelmina Grubbly," Sirius listed calmly. "Can we eat now? Oh, no, Dumbledore's going to talk," he complained.  
The headmaster, beaming and wearing dark purple robes, was indeed standing to talk. There was some applause, and he raised his hands to quiet them down. Everyone fell silent.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. As always, the Forbidden Forest is off limits to students." He almost seemed to narrow his eyes behind his half-moon glasses at Sirius and James. "I would like to remind all students, once again, to beware the Whomping Willow- it does not take kindly to those who go near it."

"Whomping Willow?" Davy Gudgeon mouthed, face scrunched up in wonder.

"I also advise you all to stay away from the lake this year- try to avoid falling in it just this once."

"Wonder what that's about?" Sirius whispered to James. "Reckon the giant squid's gone manhunter?" His friend only shrugged.

Dumbledore continued, eyes twinkling, as he let his eyes briefly pass over Remus and his friends once more. "I also wish to remind you that no one should be on Hogwarts grounds at night, and the village of Hogsmeade is off-limit except to those third-years and older who attend the weekend trips. Madam Pince, our librarian, has also sent a, ahem, friendly reminder that the Restricted Section of the library is off-limits without explicit permission from a teacher, and that there will be heavy fines if books are not returned on time and in the exact same condition they were taken in. Both the Gryffindor and Slytherin captains have asked me to remind you they will be holding tryouts. Gryffindor's will be held the afternoon of the Friday following this one, Slytherin's on that Saturday. As well, there have been some alterations to our staff this year. Madam Pomfry, our nurse, who most of you, especially our Quidditch players, have gotten to know quite well, is retiring and passing on her title to her eldest daughter, Poppy, recently from St. Mungo's."

He indicated behind him, and a young, curvy woman in lime green robes with cinnamon hair stood up, blushing.

Sirius sat bolt upright. "Wow," he murmured. "I'm going to get hit on the head a lot this year, I think."

"Due also to my refusal to allow corporal punishment," and here Dumbledore's eyes hardened, "Apollyon Pringle, our caretaker, has retired."

Absolute, sheer delight sprinkled across the faces of Black, Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew.

"'Bout time," Sirius hissed, "I've still got the marks from when the blaggard tanned my hide last year- and that was entirely your fault, James."

"Was not!" the boy with glasses hissed.

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Was-"

"Quiet, both of you. You're acting like first years," Remus told them, and so proud where they of their new status that they both actually listened.

"His replacement," Dumbledore continued, "will be Mr. Argus Filch, who has already posted a list of Forbidden Items, which notably includes Stink Bombs, Luminous Balloons, and Squawking Squirming Squeaky Toys. Mr. Filch?"

A figure in the back of the hall stepped forward. No one had even noticed he was there. He wore terribly grimy brown robes, had a pointed nose, mangy hair, and something of a stringy beard. He had narrowed, squinty eyes and a sour expression. He spoke up, and everyone in the hall, starving, hoped he wouldn't give a speech. "You forgot about Mrs. Norris," he announced in an hoarse voice.

Great, thought James, an old bag, too. Just what we need. "Ah, yes," said Professor Dumbledore, smiling. "And his assistant, of course, Mrs. Norris- who you may have noticed on the floor near the Slytherin table."

Everyone jumped at that, a few of the new Slytherins onto their chairs as they looked around wildly. Eventually, they spotted her- a red eyed, mangy looking cat, not much more than a kitten, which meowed in an unpleasant way at the sudden noise.

"A cat?" Peter said, in disbelief. "His assistant's a cat."

"Maybe it's an Animagus," Evans suggested to her friends.

"Ani- what?" asked James, having overheard.

"I hope none of you will give Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris a hard time during their first year," Dumbledore said sternly.

"Filch- that's an old Slytherin name," Sirius mused. "Why's he working as a caretaker?"

"Maybe he likes kids," Peter suggested skeptically.

"I'm thinking that's a 'no'," said Remus, who was busy watching James' hands rather than Filch. He was signaling to them, annoyed they couldn't seem to get his meaning. Giving up, he whispered in Sirius' ear, who then relayed a far simpler signal to the other two directly across.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Now?" he murmured.

"Later it could mess up the food," Sirius responded softly, leaning forward.

Peter and Remus nodded at that reasoning, and Sirius began slowly to tinker with something James passed him.

"Finally, Professor Falstaff, our Potions professor, left due to concerns with his nerves and health. He is currently in St. Mungo's and has, for some reason, left a plea that none of you visit him."

"Great going, Potter, you killed the Potions master," said Evans unhappily.

James and Remus guiltily exchanged glances, and Philips looked up. Falstaff had stumbled, at the end of the previous year, upon a terrifying scene (involving one particualr werewolf) that had split his already fragile nerves, not helped by all the pranks James and company had pulled on him throughout their first year.

"Professor Henson will serve as the new Potions master," Dumbledore announced, and a young woman, as thin as a wraith, with pale hair and skin and Muggle clothing visible beneath her robe, waved timidly.

"This will be a good year," said Sirius, triumphant tones entering his voice as he pulled some candy out of his pocket. "Food!" he laughed, passing one to James, Peter, and Remus.

"Oh, bubblegum," said Alice happily, and Marlene McKinnon smiled slightly when she saw the cream-filled chocolate Peter was unwrapping. The first years stared at it as Dumbledore continued on, and even Lily, nonchalantly, couldn't help but let her green eyes drift to it.

Sirius looked around unhappily. "All right, you can have some," he grumbled, passing some pieces around huffily.

"Wouldn't take anything from you, Black," Evans said quickly, deciding to wait for the food and glaring suspiciously at Sirius. Philips moved to grab some, but Lily pulled her friend's hand back. Jenny frowned and pouted slightly.

A moment later, Dumbledore paused in his announcement on some repairs to an old wing and stared at the Gryffindor table, as were many of the students. Davy Gudgeon laughed delightedly at his friends, then more so when he realized it was happening to him as well. Lily looked delighted with herself for knowing better than to take sweets from Sirius, especially when he gave them up so quickly. Philips looked highly relieved and murmured something, apparently a thank you, to Lily.

Anyone who had taken the candy had a face that was rapidly turning blue, not to mention cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk's. Callie looked horrified and buried her head, the first years looked confused, and Alice laughed, encouraging Marlene to do the same.

"The antidote is one of the foods in the feast," James announced, standing and bowing, proud of the fruits of his and Remus' summer 'work'.

"They just have to try them all," Sirius cackled.

Now the girls looked a bit more worried. It wasn't exactly possible to try every food at the feast- then again, it had to be something the boys knew had to be at the feast. The Great Hall, however, erupted with laughter- particularly from Hagrid, the friendly gamekeeper who had thwarted the efforts, particularly of James and Sirius, to enter the forest (but not every time).

"Typical," said Philips, with a huff trying to disguise her laughter and not quite succeeding.

Evans was reassuring two of the first year girls, who looked frightened. "Don't worry- they're awful, pig-headed boys, but they wouldn't hurt you. I'll help you figure out which food it is, and Jenny will too, don't worry."

"They're not as smart as they look- oops, sorry, forgot they don't look smart," Alice added, her smile looking strange on her bright blue face and puffed cheeks.

"In that case," Dumbledore was saying, his lips twitching into a smile, "let the feast begin!"

"Mission accomplished," James said happily, as food appeared, rising from the tables.

"Fill up," Remus told Sirius. "We won't want to hit the kitchens until we know what we're up against with the new caretaker."

"I love house elves," Sirius cheered, "'cept Kreacher, he's evil, but I love the ones that can cook!"

"House elves?" Lily echoed. "Like the one Jenny has as a slave?"

"For the millionth time, Lil, she loves what she does," Philip sighed. "If Nessie wanted to leave, we'd let her."

"Nessie?" Maggie Muldoon, a blue-faced first year franctically sipping pumpkin juice and nibbling everything. She was Scottish, by her voice. "As in the kelpie in Loch Ness?"

"As in Guinness, the drink," Jenny informed her. Stared at strangely, she said, "What? My father named her. She's been with us for years. James, tell her house elves like what they do."

"Sure. House elves like what they do," he said cheekily.

"Yeah, Kreacher's only ambition is to serve Mum till she cuts his head off and sticks it on the wall like she did to his mother a few years back," Sirius offered.

Everyone paused. "That's horrible!" Lily cried at last.

"My family is from Slytherin," he told her. "Remind me to tell you about the relative who tried to get laws passed for Muggle-hunting."

Lily shuddered.

There was a short muttering among the first years. "You're a Black?" Hogan Stump declared in disbelief. "What are you doing in Gryffindor?"

"Why does it matter what his last name is?" Davy Gudgeon wondered.

"Oh, joy," Sirius grumbled.

James produced something from his robe pocket. "Toss this under Snivellus' chair, it'll cheer you. Filibuster firework, brand new-"

"Don't you dare-" Lily began.

Sirius, grinning, lit the firework with the tip of his wand.

Quite a long while later, the foursome headed up the stairs to the second year Gryffindor boy's dormitory. On leaving the feast (the cure for their prank had proved to cheese as Davy Gudgeon had discovered and been bribed by Alice to divulge), they'd tried to hex Evans and Philips from behind with the Leg-Locker Curse, only to have James blasted by the Disarming Spell. They'd ended up late and been locked out, stuck, horror of horrors with the two girls, leading to somewhat of an escapade. They'd been playing Gobstones with Frank Longbottom and a few of his friends, but as soon as curfew for bed came (which, on the first night of school, was pretty much nonexistent), Longbottom quickly ended the game. He was something of a stickler for rules.

"I had Belby, I had him!" Sirius lamented. "One more move- just one more move-"

"Did you have to duck?" Peter complained to James, wiping goo off his face. "Really, I wasn't even playing-"

"Can we just go to sleep now?" Remus asked, exhausted. "I was up last night- improving those Dungbombs, reading the new Transfiguration book- plus, you know-"

"Don't any of you want to use the Invisibility Cloak tonight? Please? I'm not tired," James pleaded.

"No," the other three chorused.

"First night," said Peter.

"New caretaker," Remus reminded.

"Not hungry," Sirius determined.

"We can find a way to Hogsmeade," James argued as they stepped inside.

"Whomping Willow," Peter pointed out.

"Behind Violet's portrait," Remus yawned.

"Fifth brick to the left on the floor in the clocktower," Sirius answered.

"We need more!" James insisted.

"Please, Pringle never found any, what makes you think this fellow will?" Sirius scoffed.

"We can explore any other night," Remus assured him.

"We're tired," Peter explained.

"But we need a mission!"

"No, we don't," Peter said worridly, knowing full well what James had in mind when he said 'mission'.

"What sort of mission?" Remus muttered.

"Hmmmm..." mused Sirius. By this point, James was flung spread eagle on his bed, Peter was curling up in his, and Remus very tidily folding up his robe and turning back his sheets. Sirius, on the other hand, had his flannel pajama top stuck on his head. It was too small, and he was trying to yank it over with great difficulty.

"That has buttons," Remus pointed out.

Sirius attempted to pull it off his head, failed, and began to try to unbutton it without being able to see.

Remus sighed. "Diffindo," he muttered, raising his wand. Sirius' shirt split in two pieces, falling from his head.

"That's my only-" Sirius protested, then stopped as a balled up Muggle T-shirt hit him in the head. "Thanks, James," he laughed, pulling it on. He fell back on his bed, and Remus turned off the light.

There was a moment of silence as they all squirmed under their covers. "Remus?" Sirius began, then paused. Louder, he yelled, "Oy, Moony!"

"Stop doing that!" Remus complained. "What put that in your head?"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't know. You just are, Rem. When's the next full moon, anyway? Halloween again."

Remus sighed. "Sooner. Third week of September."

Peter winced. "That's pretty soon."

Again, silence. "Yeah," said Remus quietly.

"What's it like?" James asked cautiously, not wanting to intrude. "We saw what it looks like, o'course, but..."

"James," Sirius said swiftly. "Your bones shift and crack and change shape, you sprout fur, and a wild beast takes over, how do you think it feels?"

Again, an uncomfortable pause. "Someone's been reading up," Remus suggested.

"I spend my summer trapped in a house where my only escape is my father's library, filled with books on the Dark Arts," Sirius said testily. "I'd rather read about my friend's condition, yeah. You didn't tell us half how bad it is, Rem. Not half."

"It's not something I want you to know about," Remus said softly. "Not something anyone can do anything about."

For a long moment, each boy, all alone in their own bed, stared at the canopy of their four poster bed, separated by curtains and space.

"It's lonely," Remus said finally, a twelve year old boy with sandy hair and a demon inside. "And the wolf... he- I- it... has a lot of rage. It wants to... well, it wants to do what that bartender guy was doing. It- has a taste for... for human flesh and... an urge... to kill. And it can't, so it- attacks- itself- me."

"All your bruises and cuts," Peter said quietly, mournfully.

"Yeah."

A pause.

"Sort of a pity we're not all werewolves," said James slowly.

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'bite me'," Remus said threateningly.

Uncomfortable, they all chuckled. Again, a pause.

"Well, g'night," James murmured sleepily.

A sudden jerking, and a thud, as Sirius, leaping up on his bed, hit his head against the bar that held the canopy up. He stuck his head through the curtains. At the noise, his fellows leaned forward and pulled their own curtains aside. "I've got it!" he roared, and laughed, his short, sharp bark of a laugh. He jumped down, bare feet sinking into the rug. In the dark, all one could see of him was from the faint moonlight from the window, which glinted on his burning eyes and dark hair. "Animagi," he breathed, the magic word.

"Ani-what?" James and Peter chorused, and Remus looked at him and said, "You're mad."

"Well, you don't eat animals, do you? Do you?" Sirius demanded.

"No, but-"

"But? There is no but! Don't you see? It's perfect!"

"What language are the two of you speaking?" James demanded. "Ani- what? Ani-what?"

Sirius snorted. "And this is Mr. Transfiguration speaking."

James' eyes widened as he considered the implication of the word and put it together. "Oh... It's our mission!"

"Explain!" Peter wailed, and from his luggage, yet unpacked, his pet rat squeaked. Quickly, he pulled himself out of bed and hurried over to let it out, cradling Wormtail, as the rat was called, in his hands.

Sirius, eyes fevered, pointed at the rat. "There's your explanation."

Peter looked at his rat. "Still not following, Sirius."

"Human into animal and back again," James said, filled with wonder as he fumbled to put his glasses back on. He wanted to remember this moment clearly, not as the blur he saw it as. His hazel eyes gleamed.

Remus shook his head. "Stop it, you're acting crazy," he told them sharply, trying to shut down the small part of himself filling with hope.

"How would it be if you didn't have to be cooped in the Shrieking Shack every full moon?" James said, filling with glory and speaking with the voice he'd used to convince them of everything they'd ever done. "We could go with you- think of it! Just think! I transform into something- say, a tiger- and Sirius and Peter are whatever they are, the three of us will be able to stop you if you try to hurt anyone. We'll be deep in the forest, anyway- who'll be around?"

"You're still you when you're the wolf, right? Under the instincts, the fury, all that- you're still you?" Sirius insisted.

Remus looked down. "Yes," he said in a whisper. For that, in his mind, was the worst of it.

"We can be animals and be safe," Peter said in awe. "Remus won't be alone."

"All for one and one for all," Remus said rather bitterly, lip twisting.

"We mean it, Moony," Sirius said, eyes dark and deep. "We're your friends. We've all got our demons. Yours is just a little more pushy than others, that's all. Animagi- I read about them, too. They're still themselves when they change, just in animal form with the animal's abilities. It's a free choice- we can change whenever we want, without a wand."

"It's damn near impossible."

"That's what James is for," Sirius said, moving over to toss an arm over James' shoulder. Potter looked slightly alarmed. "And you, Rem, you're great with all the book stuff." He paused, speaking up again almost as an afterthought. "And there's me."

"You are brilliant," James grinned, ruffling his friend's hair.

"It- it takes years," Remus tried to explain. "It's terribly, terribly dangerous- you could end up half man, half something else... a twisted creature. A freak." He refrained from adding, 'like me.' "It takes the best wizards to do it, and you need to go through all kinds of tests and sign all this stuff, register with the Ministry, even to try it. It's highly illegal."

"Since when have we balked at doing something illegal?" said Peter, almost shyly.

"You tell 'im!" Sirius crowed.

"I- I couldn't let you do that," Remus forced out. "Dumbledore- it'd be betraying him, and he let me in, he trusted me..."

James' grin vanished, and he grew quite serious, pulling away from Sirius' arm and advancing. "You suffer, Rem- we know you do. We saw it all last year, before we even understood. We're more than friends- we're brothers. You hear that? You're our brother, Remus Lupin, even when you're a wolf. And we can't- we can't just stand by and let that be, because we're us. And we- at least I- won't accept things like that. So? You're a werewolf. The only issue I have with that is that it hurts you. And I won't let a brother hurt alone. We'll do this- damn the risks, damn the consequences, damn the illegality, and if it comes down to it, damn Dumbledore. You think there's anything that goes on in this school he doesn't know about? The man is over a hundred years old, and he's wiser than the four of us combined will ever, ever be. But he turns a blind eye. He only sees what he wants to see- only sees when he's needed to see. If this is terribly, terribly wrong- he'll stop it. If it isn't- he'll never even know. And not because we're brilliant, or clever, or smarter than he is, but because he'll never even notice. He has bigger worries. But you, Remus- you are our biggest worry. You're our friend, and you're in trouble. And now- maybe, maybe- if this pans out- we have a way to help you. A way we can do something. And you don't even want us to try?"

"But if you say no, Rem- we'll listen," Sirius added, stepping forward. "If you don't want this- then tell us and we'll never mention it again- never happened. But if you do- then don't lie. We can't lie." His eyes darkened. "There's enough lies in the world already. We're twelve years old. We have no need to, 'cept to get out of trouble- and none of us is going to put another in trouble. Well- you know what I mean. No secrets, Remus- no walls." His voice went very, very small. "There's enough walls at home for a lifetime." He recovered his voice. "So?"

Remus sighed, very heavily, and looked at each face individually. James, so assured and determined, always the leader. Sirius, dark and hopeful, confident and unsure. Peter, scared but excited and willing to do it anyways. "I'm not the one who'll be risking anything," he said quietly. "You- you all want to do this f-for me?"

"Of course," said Peter simply. He looked suddenly terrified. "You'll all have to help me, though," he said uncertainly. "I-I'm afraid I'll be something of a bother."

"Never," Sirius vehemently declared. "B-but," he froze, then gulped. "You can't control what animal you'll become, it's just- well, it's what you are. And- and- if we're not going to lie- then- then I-I didn't get into Gryffindor because I had no ambition and was reckless, like I told you," he said in a rush. "The hat- it- he - it told me I-I did that, that I had a yearning for power- that I wanted to better myself- that I was cunning. That I'd do well there. And- and I begged it not to put me there. I didn't want that. Anything else, even Hufflepuff. And- then it put me here, and I was so- so- happy and I didn't want to ruin it and-and I understand if you don't want me because I could have been a Slytherin and I could turn into something really terrible like a snake and-"

"Sirius!" James interrupted. "Please! You? A snake? Oh, yeah, that's loads likely! You're as much a Gryffindor as I am! The hat doesn't put you places you don't want to go- how else do you think I knew I'd be a Gryffindor? I wouldn't have gone anywhere else! Of course we still like you! Judging you on your blood- that's wrong, that would be like hating Evans because she's Muggle-born- I mean, yeah, I hate her, but not because she's Muggle-born and- oh, hell." He sighed, heavily. "We're telling the truth, right? No secrets?" He sat down heavily. "You can never, ever tell anyone- ever! Just the four of us, all right? And Sirius, don't you dare, dare, laugh." He looked around, beckoned them closer. He squirmed a little, his hazel eyes miserable. "It's weird. It's, it's about Evans. I mean, I hate her. I hate her- Loathe her- Absolutely truly, truly, TRULY hate her... but she is sort of pretty, isn't she?" His expression was desperate.

Sirius blinked. "That's James Potter's deepest, darkest secret? You like Lily Evans? You're kidding, right?"

James buried his face in his hand. "I really, really wish I were. It's just- her hair- it sort of swishes- and it's red and pretty- and her eyes are really, really green- and I don't even like the color green 'cause it's Slytherin's color, but hers aren't the same- they're like emeralds- and she's brave- even if she is terribly annoying- but she yells at us- even when no one else does, especially when...and I'm so, so stupid!"

"You're not stupid. Girls are pretty, we like them. Even the annoying ones. You'll get over it," Sirius said confidently.

"I think I'll marry her," James said firmly.

Sirius winced, exchanged glances with the other two. "Er..."

"She's the only one I like- like that. But I don't like her- per say- I mean, she makes me mad and I don't like her-" James trailed off, confused.  
"

You love her but you don't like her," Remus analyzed.

James looked horrified. "I don't love her! I'm twelve! The only girl I love is my mom- which is why I missed the train, I went back to kiss her good-bye, and she said Sirius should come for Christmas because she doesn't want him to be alone at school again-"

"I love your mom too," said Sirius happily. "Look, James, be calm. You're twelve- don't tell her you fancy her, don't act like you fancy her, and stop staring at her. I thought you were pretending to burn holes through her head, but now..." He shook his head. "Just don't let her know, whatever you do."

"Because she hates me?"

"Well, yeah," Sirius admitted.

"Great," James moaned. "None of you like her too, do you?" he asked worridly.

Sirius looked horrified. "No way!"

Peter shook his head. "I see what you mean about her hair, but... no. She's nice, but a little bit scary."

"Actually, I do like her- but only as a friend. We get along all right, and I don't hate her- but I don't- er, no," Remus said rapidly, trying to express what he meant. He did, rather, like Lily, but not with the intensity James seemed to.

"Oh, well that's good then," James said, satisfied.

"Er, James, that doesn't mean there aren't other boys who like her," Remus reminded him.

"Them I can kill or viciously maim," James said cheerfully.

"I'll help!" Sirius offered.

James stood, rubbing his hands together. "No secrets. Good then. Rem's a werewolf, Sirius fears he's not a real Gryffindor, Peter's insecure, and I like Evans. Good. We're awful messed up, but we just might be messed up enough to do this!"

"We're not that messed up," Remus protested.

"Says the werewolf," Sirius pointed out.

Peter's rat had fallen asleep, and he carefully set it down. "We, er, do have classes tomorrow. And, er, dawn isn't all that far away."

James looked for the clock on the wall. "Four in the morning. Feast went late, locked out, played Gobstones, talked for ages- five hours till classes."

"Bloody hell," said Sirius. "Five? I need more sleep!"

"Sleep in class," Peter suggested, curling up in his bed.

"You always do," Remus said wryly.

"Lunch in the library tomorrow," James said eagerly, remembering, "after we get mail. I forgot a lot of stuff and Mum promised cookies."

The last the thing they heard as the fell asleep was Sirius' cry of, "Cookies!"

This time, they left the curtains about their beds drawn open.

"What do you think?" Remus asked Sirius, as they poured over books a few days later, classes just ended. Evans had nearly died of shock when she'd found them reading, and, commenting that the world must be coming to an end, had thankfully left.

"Of our first Potions class? Of Henson? She knows what she's talking about, but she seems to relate everything to cooking. Cute, nice, not long out of school. She gets all hysterical over the Hufflepuffs- obviously her old house. She starts talking about chemicastria, er, that Muggle stuff, and elekticity, wears jeans, talks for ages with Evans, she's obviously Muggle born. The Slytherins'll eat her alive. We should probably go a bit easier on her- I think the fireworks were a bit much," he mused.

"I meant of what you'd found."

"Oh," he said unhappily. "Let me put it this way. I now know many, many things I did not know, including the proper way to clip a dragon's toenails and how to talk to trees, but I still have no frickin' clue how a fellow can go about turning into an animal."

"Sirius, no one can talk to a tree."

"Yes, they can!" he protested. "It said it right in a book I read, and there was a picture. You plant a tree without leaves in a new place, and you tie these black ropes to it, and talk into this strange device, and the tree talks back!"

Remus sighed. "Sirius, where did you get this book?"

"Over there," he said, gesturing to another section of the library.

Remus sighed more heavily. "That's the Muggle Studies section. You're talking about a telephone. It's sort of the equivalent to making a fire- call, except you can't see the person's face and the person isn't actually present, the words are just being carried by electricity."

Sirius' face was carefully blank.

"Take Muggle Studies next year," Remus told him, and went back to his book.

"That's for duffers," Sirius scoffed. "Anyway, you got your book from the same section."

"James wanted me to look at the stories Muggles have about turning into animals- they have, surprisingly, a lot of them, but they're just make- believe. He thinks there may be a clue. He's having difficulty with the Transfiguration books. He believes it's all in the Restricted Section."

Sirius flipped his hair out of his face. "We've tried that before. The books are magicked, they don't let you read them- they scream, or bite you, or disappear, or suck you into them, or burn out your eyes-"

"Right. Point is, we need permission," Remus sighed.

"Henson's not dumb and she favors Hufflepuffs, not Gryffindors- though I must say she took to Peter. McGonagall loves James but she's too sharp- and we're not covering Animagi in class until next year, as she stated so drolly when he asked yesterday. Obviously not Dumbledore. Hagrid, Hooch, and Pomfrey can't give permission, Madam Pince never would and I don't even know or care about Filch. Flitwick's a possibility. Vonn Donn knows too much about the Dark Arts, he's seen it first hand. Even if he is head of Slytherin house, he thinks the Restricted Section should be locked up and that he should swallow the key. Astronomy professor's whacked. That leaves us with teachers we don't know-" Sirius said rapidly.

But Remus had already thought it out. "What about Binns?"

"Binns? He can't sign anything."

"Sure he can, you've seen ghosts walk around with books. Means they must have paper. Obviously we can't carry it, but betcha one of the ghosts would carry it up for us. Anyway, I've got a plan."

Sirius grinned. "I love your plans. Oh, also, I've been bored. Don't make that face at me, I know I'm dangerous when I'm bored. I have a prank in mind."

"I'll need James for my plan, you can have Peter for the prank."

"Done," Sirius agreed. "But we need the name of a book, don't we? Can't just look around willy nilly?"

Remus grinned back and showed him a list of references in the back of a book they'd put down hours ago at lunch. The book was called _'Walking on the Wild Side, the Account of an Animagi_' by Proteas Quinn. It had looked promising, but turned out to be a drivel filled piece telling the story of a Magizoologist who studied lions by becoming them and walking among them. There had been only one page on the actual change. But the reference table in the back proved far more useful, listing the ancient source books to the recent work. There it was. The Holy Grail for prospective Animagi.

_Innura Animus Magike_.

"That's what we need," said Remus, jabbing his finger at it.

"How do we know?" said Sirius uncertainly. "Look at all the other books-"

"That's the one."

"Yeah, but look at all the ones on Transfiguration-"

Remus' clear grey eyes met Sirius' dark brown ones. "Animagi is about Transfiguration, but it's more than that, too. Any wizard can transform themself into almost any animal they want. The problem is they'll have the mind of that animal, their instincts. Every kid has heard the story..."

"The fellow who liked transforming into the bear so much he became more bear than man and one day when he transfigured himself he killed his own kid. Heard it. Point?"

"Becoming an Animagi is different. You're still you. It's been theorized the form is your innermost self. You've heard of the 'animal inside'? What you become- that's-that's you," Remus said, flinching.

"And, well, how does this relate to being a werewolf?"

"Who knows what I would have been before the bite? But since then... It wouldn't be possible for me to become an Animagi. Doesn't work for my kind. I've already found the 'beast inside'," Remus said bitterly.

"Well, I think that's rubbish." Sirius turned to leave. "Oh, but Rem? Without the, ahem, problems, that come with being a werewolf, well, being a wolf... I think that might have suited you, anyways," he said uncomfortably, meaning an ordinary wolf, of course.

Remus gave him an unreadable look. "Thanks... I think."

Sirius sort of shrugged, then headed to a different part of the library, where Peter Pettigrew was fetching multiple Transfiguration books for James, who was staring at the pages of about six books open in front of him with intent concentration. Sirius came up behind him, grabbed his shoulders.

"Yaargh!" James jumped, his glasses flying down his narrow nose. He straightened them. "Oh, it's you."

"Your enthusiasm is appreciated, deeply," Sirius drawled. He looked at his friend's tired face.

"James, you're killing yourself. We've been back at school- what, half a week?- and you've already got as many circles as Moony."

"I have to make the Quidditch team and I need to find out how to become an Animagi to help Moon- now, look what you've got me doing- Remus, pull the perfect prank to top the Prewett brothers, not to mention write for Henwick that stupid 'self-evaluation so I can get to know you' and I don't buy Evans' statement it's a Muggle thing, I think it's a demonic way of giving homework for your first class while still trying to appear nice," James ranted.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "You're as good as on, stop practicing- I'm not half as good as you and I'm not worried. Remus found the book, but it's in the Restricted Section and he needs your help to find it. I have the perfect prank- not that I'm saying it'll top you-know-who, but they're thieves, there is no comparison. As for the self-evalutation, I asked Stebbins what Muggles make you write for this sort of thing. He said jot down your favorite things, including color, and least favorite things five seconds before class and that should cover it." He paused. "I recommend not putting Evans on either list. Does that fix your life and mean you'll actually be able to sleep tonight?"

"No." James looked at him sulkily. "And don't do that, my mother does that and I don't like it."

"What, fix your life?"

"No, make me feel like an idiot."

"I was shooting for numbskull, but idiot should do. Remus is near the self about Muggles. Now, where's Peter?"

James pointed, as he closed each book with a slam and stacked them. He lifted them unsteadily and walked off, books entirely covering his face. Marlene McKinnon, recognizing him as she walked by, gave him a very odd look.

Peter was standing on a tipsy ladder, trying to fetch a specific book.

"Peter!" Sirius called.

Pettigrew nearly fell off. He managed, barely, to shimmy down the small ladder, having grabbed a book Sirius, now far taller, could have reached merely on his tip-toes.

"Prank," said Sirius, grinning. He bent his head down to Peter's ear. "Now, here's what I want you to do..."

In the Slytherin common room that night, Gaston Goyle sat alone, isolated from the other seventh years. He'd never expected to fail his last year and have to repeat it. In fact, so assured had he been that the last year was the easiest he'd never studied for his N.E.W.T.S. Funny thing, he'd never figured out what they'd stood for. And now, Lucius Malfoy and Lesley Crabbe (who had beaten up someone nearly every day on account of his name) were gone, and without Lucius to do the talking, he didn't quite know what to say.

"I say, knave! Verily do I challenge you to a proper duel!"

Goyle looked around, confused. Lucius had been in plenty of duels- he'd helped. But a duel himself... Who was fool enough to challenge him, anyways?

"Villainous slime of the earth! Do you not have a tongue with which to answer your better?"

Finally, Goyle located the source of the annoying sound, and gasped. The coiling snake which usually blinked or hissed from its portrait was thrasing, an enormously fat pony sitting upon it. It was attempting to bite a little man in armor, who was attempting to wave a large, clearly heavy sword.

"Yes, you! Large oaf! Answer me with the honor a gentle like myself is befitted!"

"That knight wasn't always there, was it?" Goyle said slowly.

There were younger students gathered around the fireplace. A girl with blue-black hair and hooded eyes answered. "No."

"Maiden of evil! Sorceress foul! I have entered the den of the serpents and am here to rid the earth of them!"

"Roddy?" said the girl to a slightly older boy.

"What, Bella?"

"The little man's annoying me. Make him go away." She resumed reading a book she'd borrowed from that twip a year below her, Severus Snape. Still, for a twip, he knew a lot about the Dark Arts. And just yesterday she'd learned from an interesting member of the school, about new opportunities opening up in the wizarding world. She had much to learn. She couldn't be bothered.

"Easily done," said Rodolphus. "I'll just tear the painti-"

"Without," she said sharply, "damaging the portrait of Naga. Salazar Slytherin's personal snake deserves far more respect- even in death."

"I don't think that's even possible," Evan scoffed.

"I demand the impossible," Bellatrix told him. "And so do... others."

"I'll try anything once," Avery said in his whiny tones, looking at her with devotion. She ignored him and returned to her book.

It wasn't long before most of the Slytherins had become involved. Bellatrix Black, even at thirteen, was a girl who most wanted to impress.

And then, from out of nowhere, came sweeping in Peeves, cackling as he passed through the wall.

"Where's the Bloody Baron?" one fellow demanded. "He keeps him out of here, I thought!"

Macnair, a third year who'd developed a friendship with the ghost, answered. "Playing cards. With the Fat Friar, the Gray Lady, and the Gryffindor ghost whose head falls off. The poltergeist must be taking advantage of their absences," he said sternly.

Peeves, laughing his head off, was banging all the metal shields that lined the walls, diving at people, and knocking over a black suit of armor in the corner. Then he took Bellatrix's book. She looked up, smiled dangerously, and drew her wand.

Rosier, lounging by the fireplace, sighed. He grabbed a first year. "Get Filch," he insisted, and headed after the poltergeist.

"Nya, nya, nya, nya, nya, Salazar's students are sick and slow, nya, nya, nya, nya," Peeves chanted.

In all the commotion, few noticed that long before Peeves' arrival, every faucet in Slytherin house had been turned as high as they could go by an invisible hand. Considering there was one bathroom in every dormitory, with a sink and shower/bath, and altogether fourteen dormitories, there would be an awful lot of water. Silencing spells had been placed on the running water, but they had, against such a force, begun to fray- at exactly the moment of Peeves' arrival. It was early in the night- no one was in bed yet, or even up in their dormitories. If not in the common room, they were scattered throughout the school. All the doors were carefully closed, Sealing Charms (courtesy of Remus Lupin's excellence in that class) on the floor so water wouldn't seap through. No one would no until too late.

"A poltergeist in the school!" Filch repeated, horrified as he stared at Peeves. He hadn't encountered him yet, having only been in school a few days. "We'll have him out! Tell me, can poltergeists be eviscerated?" he asked gleefully. The first year, having let him in, and unknowingly let Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew out, stared at him in terror. "We'll find out, won't we, my dearest?" he said lovingly to Mrs. Norris, who intwined about his legs and purred. He raised a broom. "We'll smash the little ghostie to bits!"

Peeves saw him coming and cackled. "Filthy, filthy, Fi-ilch, with his nasty puss, come to give Peevsie a bit of a muss..."

James burst into hysterics the moment the wall disguising the common room closed behind them. Sirius had done all the planning and recruiting, but it was, as usual, a company job, all four of them barely fitting under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Sssh, sssh," Remus hustled them, trying not to laugh himself. "We've got to get back in time for an alibi, playing chess where everyone can see us after coming down from our room. Hurry, hurry!"

To the horror of their fellow Gryffindor's, the four set about making sure everyone was up practically at the crack of dawn the next morning by making loud noises, banging about the common room.

"I'm going to kill them," Belby, his dark circles still showing up on his black skin, yelled. Frank Longbottom and Robert Johnson (no relation to a later attendee of Hogwarts by the same last name). "They're dead, dead, dead, dead!"

"Can we just eat go breakfast?" Robert said wearily, his freckles standing out against his translucent skin.

Shouts of "I won!" "NO, I did, that's checkmate!" "Queen to-" "Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew- one more word and I'll skin you alive!" "Oh, do shut up, Philips" still ringing in their ears, practically the entire Gryffindor house headed to breakfast earlier. Sirius had insured, by means of bribery and pleading, that the Prewetts and their friend Stebbins in Hufflepuff also had the other two houses up early. And so it was that three of the great houses of Hogwarts, rubbing sleep out of their eyes, made worse from homework and late Astronomy classes, found themselves staring at the sight in the Great Hall. Tables pushed far back against the walls, the entire house of Slytherin, in sleeping bags of a remarkably bright orange conjured by Albus Dumbledore, asleep all alone. At the laughter awaiting them, several woke up, stretching out of their sleeping bags enough to reveal they were all in nightgowns- as Sirius knew all too well, the preferred sleeping garment of the ancient purebloods, and thus, of the Slytherins and their parents- including the boys.

As several of the sleeping boys leaped up, astounded, having attended to be long gone by the usual breakfasting hour, a Hufflepuff girl shrieked and fainted dead away.

"Must have been the sight of Snivellus in his dressing gown," Sirius smirked, waving a camera. "I reckon she couldn't stand it. Say 'cheese', all!" He began snapping pictures, as Slytherins began to flee.

"Sirius!" Bellatrix yelled, red-faced as she clutched her sleeping bag to her, avoiding the curious looks of the young men. "I'll kill you!"

"Possibly, Trixie, but not for this," Sirius said, and it was unclear whether or not he was joking. The camera flashed.

They were quickly hauled away, leaving the Slytherins to clear off, and the others to return for breakfast later. It was clear who was behind it- but there was no proof. At breakfast, Sirius and James beamed as they walked around, getting slapped on the back and congratulated, or alternately, cursed at and blamed for water-logged possessions. They'd made an enemy of Filch, as well- but apparently, he was a bit more distracted with Peeves, who he'd made his personal nemesis. Peeves was delighted.

Vonn Donn, waving his crutch that came with his limp from the Grindewald war (he was lucky- his partner on that assignment, Alastor, had lost a leg from the same curse), was shouting wildly, face red. It was his house that had been ruined, after all. "It's those four, Albus, I'm telling you! McGonagall's mad marauders! She probably put them up to it."

"Well, I never," said Minerva, offended, but her stern face did twitch into a smile as Sirius passed, arm in arm with his pals, and they all saluted her. Dumbledore pretended they weren't there, and set about calming Vonn Donn.

"Marauders, hmm? Remus, what does that mean?" James asked his friend.

"About that plan and Binns," Peter began.

"James and I have it under control," Remus told him.

Lily Evans walked by, slamming down her breakfast tray down on the table. "I think you're simply horrible," she stated, glaring with her deep green eyes.

"Bully for you," Sirius told her cheerfully.

Alice Anderson, blond hair floating angelically around her shoulders, grabbed Evans by the arm as she seated herself. "Lily, did you hear? The Hufflepuff girl, the one who fainted- she hasn't woken up."

"What?" Lily said, hand going to her mouth. "Oh, poor Elaine- what do you think is the matter?"

Alice lowered her voice and began whispering in her ear.

Rosier, broom in hand, was heading out of the room with Snivellus and a few others, apparently to practice for their tryouts. He shot the four a sour look.

"Reckon we must have drenched his teddy bear," Sirius said mournfully.

"Does he actually have one?" wondered Peter. Sirius and Remus gave him concerned looks at his gullibility.

They seated themselves, as far from the girls as possible, but close enough for James to be able to shoot looks at Lily.

"Quidditch tryouts next week, James!" Alex Bell yelled out. "You better be there, and not serving detention!"

"Why do you think there was no proof?" Remus said, quirking an eyebrow.

"We like taking credit," Sirius complained. "I want that record number of detentions. Right, James? James?"

"Marauders," James repeated, ignoring them all. "Marauders...hmmm.."


	17. Second Year: Darkening

Lily Evans watched the four boys in front of her, a tempest brewing in her green eyes. She knew they were up to something, it was all too apparent from the way they'd been muttering to each other and crouching over parchment all week. Worse, now she couldn't even retreat to the library, since she never knew when she'd find them up there, and they were constantly going through dangerous books of advanced spells. Particularly transfiguration, which implied to her it was entirely Potter's idea. Arrogant, show-off, worm of a boy! Oh, she had a very bad feeling about whatever it was they were doing.  
She frowned as Potter looked over his shoulder again at her and swiveled back. He consistently did that, which suggested she was probably the target. This was too unusual. They always slept through Binns' class, even more deeply than anyone else, and now they seemed practically the only other ones awake. Sirius Black actually seemed to be paying attention, tilting the chair till it balanced only on its back legs and lounging carelessly, but with his eyes up and watching Professor Binns. It'd serve him right if he fell over, all too likely to kill himself from that position.  
Binns droned on, speaking about the founding of the Wizard's Council in 1039, where before there had been fragmented councils ruling each small district, the largest of which was unsuprisingly in London. Lily noted that down, jerking Jenny out of her stupor long enough for her friend to jot down the date.  
Black slammed his chair down flat and made a disgusted noise. He put his elbows down on his desk, and Lily thought at last he'd go to sleep and things would be back to normal. Instead, still slumped, he shot his hand up in the air. She started. That hadn't happened since last year, when Black'd raised his hand to ask Vonn Donn about werewolves, and certainly no one had raised their hand in History of Magic. Jenny snapped awake, Callie Bell fell off her desk, the bubblegum Alice had been blowing popped right on her face, and Marlene, who had been staring out the window, let her elbow slip off her desk as she gaped at him. Binns, looking down, droned on.  
Black, his face contorting to a truly annoyed look, sat upright and waved his hand from left to right wildly, clearing his throat loudly. At the noise, Binns eventually looked up, his ghostly face becoming dumbfounded.  
"Mister...er...Bran?" the Professor tried.  
Sirius sighed. "Black. It's Black. Why are we learning this?" he demanded.  
Binns looked startled, and highly offended. In his dry, dull voice he continued, "The accomplishments made in the wizarding world are remarkably important to the present. They have shaped wh-"  
"No, no," Sirius interrupted, waving his arms. "I mean, this is history of magic, right? So why are we learning the history of the wizarding world? Shouldn't we be learning who first harnessed magic, or who first transfigured something, and-"  
"The origins of magic were covered in the previous year-" Binns began, offended.  
Sirius paused, shot a glance at Remus, and continued. "No, we covered magic in relation to politics, and...and..." He glanced at Lupin desperately. Clearly he had no idea what had been learned last year. He cast a look around, then his face sort of changed, to an 'oh, to hell with it' look that made Lily sit up straighter with alarm. "We're not interested in this stuff!" he said with passion. "We don't want to know dates, and numbers, and blank faces, and hey, we're wizards, can't we go back into the past and observe or something?"  
The other three of his evil group had bolted up right, looking at Sirius worriedly. Lily nearly smirked. Clearly, whatever the plan had been, Black had just left the script (which Potter and Lupin had spent what seemed like ages working on, choosing Sirius as the best 'actor' for their material)  
Actual passion seemed to enter Binns' dusty voice as he raised his above Sirius'. "Such action is not only nearly impossible, but incredibly dangerous! It has been proven, time and time again, that by going back in time, particularly that far, the consequences have been disastrous! Experimentation has resulted in wizard's killing their future or past self- "  
"But when was this proven?" Sirius said desperately, now on his feet and appealing to his fellow classmates. "We're not learning this stuff. How are we expected to know this stuff- we're not learning it! I don't know what a wizard can use to get to the past-"  
"Time Turner," Lupin told him quietly, leaning over.  
"Not helping," Sirius said threateningly. "But who invented these Time Turners? We don't know! Don't say anything," he added to Lupin in a dead quiet tone, noticing his friend had opened his mouth. "I mean, what can they be used for? How far back can a person go? What are the rules? While we're on the topic, who first thought up the possibility of time travel? All these dead gents were learning about, why did they do the things they did? What inspired them? Did they have passion? Did they want to be remembered? Did they have any idea a poor bunch of kids would have to memorize their names? On that note, why is history important again?"  
Binns, realizing this was actually a question he was intended to answer, responded tartly, "Those who do not know the past are doomed to repeat it-"  
"Right, sure, but when exactly are we going to be repeating the founding of the Wizard's Council? And when we're talking about wars, can we talk about what actually happened? Who got hurt and what got affected, not just who won and who lost? Oh, and why aren't we learning the history of the spells we're learning? I mean, we could be using the same spell used to win the Battle of such and such on blah-de-blah, without even knowing it!" Sirius, now on top of his chair, paused for a breath. Binns simply stared at him.  
James, taking advantage of his friend being winded, steered the conversation back in the direction they wanted it to go. "Yeah, yeah, like who was the first fellow to transfigure something? What country did it happen in? Who was the most amazing Animagi? When did wizards realize the dangers of simply transfiguring themselves into animals?" he asked eagerly, glasses bobbing.  
Alice Anderson, who'd by now gotten the bubblegum off her face with a Scourging spell that left the bottom of her face slightly red, got caught up in the palpable excitement rising in the classroom and piped up. "Where were all the plants we study discovered? Have we had many close calls with the Muggles? And why haven't we covered this stuff? Is it even in our book?"  
Sirius was standing on his desk at this point. "Who led revolutions? How come we don't still have the American colonies- I mean, shouldn't our wizards have been better than their wizards? And how does any of this junk affect me, anyhow?"  
Jenny perked up. "Ooh, can we skip ahead to the Grindewald war? That was very interesting, and it was going along right before the Muggles' noses? And when part of Hogwarts was destroyed? When did that happen, anyway, sometime in the fifteenth century? Oh, and the sea battles!"  
"Black's got a point," said Callie musingly.  
Sirius pumped his fist in the air, posing on the desk like some great martyr. "Tumm, tumm, tumm, tumm- the Age of Camelot! Greatest days of Merlin! Why did we skip that?" he insisted. "And we brushed right by the founders- boy, even my mother would hate that-"  
"Legend, Mr. Brink," Binns droned slowly, blinking heavily under Sirius' unceasing onslaught. "We do not deal in legend in this classroom-"  
"But they were real!" he yelled.  
"Not enough is known about them, Mr. Bond. Although their existence is unquestionable, all other details are uncertain," he said slowly, while Black continued to protest.  
"Oy, it's Black," he said, offended. "Oh, and how come the ghosts died, what did they die in, and why are they here? How did the Bloody Baron die? 'Cause, I've been wondering, there's a slight chance he's related to me, 'cept it's hard to tell with all the blood-"  
James was sitting quietly at his desk like a good little boy, but mayhem was building around him. Remus was groaning quietly next to him, but Peter was shouting along with the rest. Even Evans was insisting on the history of certain charms. "This isn't exactly the way it was meant to go," Remus complained. James shrugged and stretched back lazily in his seat.  
"I suppose- an after school course could be arranged," Binns stuttered haltingly. "T-to supplement the knowledge already covered in the areas you seem interested in."  
Sirius froze, his face horrified. He quickly searched his mind. "Er, er, oh, my, gosh, that would be swell, but, er, what ever would we do in order to find time for, er, homework, what with Quidditch tryouts coming up and all," he hurridly stammered, sinking slowly down in his seat. "I, er, just thought it could be, more, more interesting- in class, of course, and, oh, bother," he said miserably, hunching into his chair.  
Lily, grinning, raised her hand.  
"Miss, er?"  
"Evans, Professor. I think that sounds like a lovely idea," she said sweetly.  
James started shaking his head, gripping his hair in dismay. He glared at Sirius. "Oh, Professor, we couldn't possibly take time from your wildly busy schedule-"  
"Actually, I think it's an excellent idea," Remus interrupted, his friends staring at him in comical disbelief. "But James does make a point, Professor. I do loathe to think that my friend's insatiable thirst for all things related to history," Sirius shot him a dirty look, mouthing 'your fault' and Remus tried not to crack up, "ahem, affecting your schedule. If you were to possibly lend your expertise and great historical knowledge to a recommendation of several books on the topics we've brought up, I'm sure that Mr. Black here could find an answer to his many questions." Remus smiled at Professor Binns, his twelve year old face radiating hope and respect.  
Sirius nodded fervently, relieved. "That sounds simply wonderful, Professor. Absolutely-"  
"Don't. Talk." Remus told him quietly, not even moving his lips. Sirius, dark hair flying about his face, closed his mouth firmly.  
Binns, overwhelmed by the interested faces staring at him, briefly opened and closed his mouth, like a fish. "I, I suppose that would be possible." Then, snappily, he added, "Of course, a report would be required from each of you on the topic in history chosen, naturally, relating to the period in history we are studying. I believe six roles of parchment will be fair?"  
Sirius' eyes widened, but he kept his lips tightly shut, sinking lower and making an almost imperceptible whimpering sound.  
Remus nodded his head. "An outside reading assignment! Brilliant, Professor Binns. When do you want us to select our books by?"  
Binns, used to assigning work simply for the next class, paused. "Well, Mr. Logan, when do you believe is fair?"  
Remus, knowing Binns never knew which student was which or even what year he was adressing, knew Binns was asking for the date. "Taking into account Quidditch tryouts, Professor, possibly next week for a book selection and a month from today for the report." He paused, the prankster in him coming up with a wicked thought. "I suppose, Professor, this report will also be assigned to your other classes?"  
"Yes, of course, Mr. Logan," Binns said absently, paging through his ghostly copy of the text to continue his lecture. "To do otherwise would not be fair."  
Sirius let out a very small, "I'm doomed," the reaction of his fellow students echoing through his mind. Still, he very nearly chuckled at Remus' manipulation.  
"And, er, any history book will be fine, Professor?" Remus asked carefully, hoping he wouldn't have to ask the needed question.  
"Yes, yes," Professor Binns said, pursing his lips and looking faintly annoyed.  
Peter let out a slight 'eep' as James kicked him under the table. "Even ones from the Restricted Section?"  
Lily let out a slight breath, forgetting the four boys in the thought of an opportunity to get her hands on a Charms book from that section. "Yes, will you sign a permission if we need a book from there?"  
"That is fine," Binns snapped, as the boys swiveled to look at Lily in shock, even more surprised to find she seemed to have forgotten they existed. "As long as it relates to the eleventh century-"  
"Or the twelfth?" Marlene McKinnon asked timidly.  
"The twelfth is acceptable, Miss McIntyre! Now, we will continue!" he said in a sharp, aggravated tone, lips pursed tightly. As he began once more to drone, like the faint swishing hum of an old wooden fan, an expression of peace settled over his face, and James got the sensation he was blocking the disruptive incident out of his mind and settling to his usual routine, remembering selectively only his brilliant idea for an outside reading assignment. He wondered absently if they'd just doomed themselves and the generations to follow to such a report each year for the rest of eternity.  
Remus, sandy hair falling into his eyes as he picked up his quill and began sleepily copying dates, grinned softly. "Mischief managed," he whispered to his friends.  
Sirius simply sighed.

Vonn Donn, pacing in front of them and leaning on his blackthorn cane, studied the Gryffindor class before him. "Long faces, hmm? Why so glum?" he asked sharply, his beak like nose giving them an impression of a falcon swooping down on them.  
"Black got us a report, sir, in Binns' class," Alice answered promptly, though looking a bit nervously at the sharpened tip of Vonn Donn's knobbly blackthorn walking stick. He also carried a small black pouch on his side with a skull and crossbones on it, rumored to contain all sorts of dangerous items to handle all types of creatures (including pure silver dust). He'd been of the generation that had faced Grindewald, back as a young man working for the Ministry during the period the Muggles called World War II, and he had the injuries to show for it, from his lame leg to an arcing scar from eyebrow to chin, curving around his face. He'd worked alongside such as the Auror Alastor Moody, Ravenclaw's pride and joy, renowned Gryffindor martyr Alberic Grunnion, who had a Wizarding card being commisioned in his name, and Hufflepuff Kettleburn, so shaken by the war he still constantly trembled, but was brave enough to continue working with all manners of creatures (the Prewetts had a running tally of exactly how many bones he'd broken, and that was only in the years they'd taken the course).  
Retired now and teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, Vonn Donn'd spent years working for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures- hell, he'd ran the committee. Remus, knowing the direct teaching staff knew his secret, had been remarkably wary of him at first, especially knowing he was head of Slytherin house. But Vonn Donn was of an age where that hadn't mattered as much, and had, in Remus' very first week, pulled him aside (to the young werewolf's dismay) and told him privately that he had very quickly demonstrated great potential in this subject, that he had worked alongside a werewolf determined to protect others from his feral brethren, and that a normal life was perfectly possible. Of course, he had said it in a gruff way that was more frightening than soothing, but still, it was the thought that counted. He was fair, as well, but terribly tough. They learned a lot from him, though.  
"Ah. Why am I not surprised?" Professor Vonn Donn mused, casting a sharp beady eye on Sirius, who stared defiantly back. Sirius was very uncertain about Vonn Donn and what the DADA professor thought of him, the 'rogue' Black, considering he was friend to many Black relations. "Poor things. With any luck, today's lesson will take your mind off it. I have recently encountered the most perfect practical challenge to begin your second year, during which, as you may know, we will cover dark creatures, a curriculum we will also continue for most of the next. Today's lesson should prove... enlightening. I assure you, it is something you will never forget." He paused, his sharp features taking in every child in the classroom. Marlene trembled slightly under his gaze. "We will be spending several lessons on this. Now, who can tell me what the greatest danger is to any wizard? Yes, Potter?" he said, with a slight note of exasperation.  
"Dragons!" James said exuberantly. "Oh, please, tell me we're facing dragons!"  
Vonn Donn, his prematurely white hair surrounding on the sides his nearly bald dome, fixed James with his sharp gaze. "Sorry to disappoint you, Potter, but a dragon, while dangerous, is not a dark creature. Perhaps next year you can convince Professor Kettleburn. Anyone else with some bright idea? Though, I'm sure it will be a struggle to cap Potter's. Anyone? Ah, yes, Miss Evans."  
"Lack of preparation," she answered promptly.  
Vonn Donn smiled, a rather scary sight. "Excellent answer, though not the answer I'm looking for. My old comrade Alastor might disagree with me on that point. Any other ideas?" He looked pointedly at Lupin, who at last slowly raised a hand. "Yes, Lupin?"  
Lupin's grey eyes, which had been fixated on his closed book, flickered upward. "Fear."  
"Ah, there we have it!" said Professor Vonn Donn triumphantly. "Five points to Gryffindor.Yes, fear- the great unknown, the factor which can paralyze the strongest of all men, while the timid overcome it to victory. That which can determine a man's life. It is always important to know what it is you fear, and to be capable of overcoming it- otherwise, life will always be lived in shadows. Now, who knows what creature feeds on the essence of fear? Philips?"  
"A boggart," she answered promptly, wrinkling her nose. "Mum chased one out of her closet this summer."  
"Good." Vonn Donn practically beamed, rubbing his hands together. "Has anyone encountered a boggart themself before?"  
Simultaneously, the class shook their heads. "Are we about to?" Sirius asked suspiciously, with some apprehension.  
Now, he was definitely beaming. "Certainly. Typically, I am rarely allowed practical lessons, due to, ahem, an incident of brutality involving a Grindylow-"  
"Brutality to the Grindylow or to the student?" Sirius interrupted anxiously.  
Vonn Donn glared, but didn't take points from Gryffindor. He coughed. "The Grindylow apparently, erm, decided that the student's neck seemed, ahem, suitable to grip- but, luckily, I have been allowed to utilize a boggart that our very own Mr. Filch located in the dungeons. Now, this, hopefully, will be an exercise we will be able to repeat every year, to see how your fears change as you progress. So, I must insist that we try very hard not to harm this boggart. Does anyone know how you finish off a boggart? Evans?"  
"Laughter," she answered automatically.  
"Excellent, two points to Gryffindor. In order to defeat a boggart, a spell is used to transform your fear into something funny- something, unfortunately, that cannot be done should you encounter the actual fear and not just a boggart imitating it. Still, this is a highly useful spell- quills out, wands at the ready," he snapped. "Now, write this down- this will be on your final!"  
Sirius was about to scoff there was no way anyone would even think about the final yet, that was ages away, but Evans jumped to attention and began frantically scribbling.  
"Repeat after me- riddikulus."  
"Riddikulus," the class repeated dutifully. Peter looked sort of dubious, as if doubtful this was an actual spell.  
"The purpose of this spell is to imprint what you find to be humorous onto the boggart," Vonn Donn explained, then paused at the looks on their faces. "Er, it makes what you think is funny happen to the boggart- wipe that look off your face, Sirius Black! Now, this is the easiest way to handle a boggart. If it takes a certain physical form, say, a dragon, it takes on the attributes of a dragon, including size, so none of you better fear dragons, and can be fought the way one would fight a dragon, as for practice. We will not be doing that- perhaps next year. We will be using the Riddikulus spell, which is most harmful to a boggart, as it brings about laughter. Now please, I'm not sure when I'll find my next boggart, and I need one for my next class, so try not to laugh too loud. That may not be a problem- the Hufflepuffs didn't laugh at all, they couldn't seem to find anything funny about their fears." He cast a glance at James and Sirius, adding dryly, "I'm sure, for this class, it won't be a problem. If possible, keep the laughter to a minimum- though I must say, I doubt your ability to do so. Everyone ready?"  
They looked on him with trepidation.  
"Good, then. Mr. Filch?" he called, stepping closer to the open door. The mangy, greasy man came in carrying a chained, shaking trunk. Marlene yelped, Sirius' eyes became saucers, and Lily eyed it with extreme caution. Peter shrunk back, as if trying to get behind James, who leaned forward with delight.  
The caretaker smiled at them all unpleasantly, and said in his wretched voice, "Good luck," clearly implying they wouldn't have any, then exited. Alice shuddered.  
"Who wants to go first?" James' hand alone shot up, and he waved it wildly about. Vonn Donn sighed. "Form a line then, Potter in front."  
They all fought to get to the back, particularly Peter, who looked horrified. It ended up: Potter, Philips, Bell, Lupin, McKinnon, Anderson, Pettigrew, Evans, then Black (Sirius always liked to go last, he felt more people paid attention then, and he did love attention). James was practically bouncing up and down, wand out.  
"Now, what are you most afraid of, Potter?" Vonn Donn asked as he undid the chains of the clattering trunk.  
James considered. He paused. Blinked. "Nothing?" he tried.  
Vonn Donn gave him a look. James shrugged, helplessly.  
"All right, then," Vonn Donn said at last, his wand at the ready just in case. He began to lift the lid, then paused. "One of you better know what you're doing, since if I intervene, you'll find the Dark wizard Grindewald in the room, and I truly don't think having him materialize in a room full of children is a good idea."  
"Comforting," murmured Sirius jitterly, and the lid went up.  
A blast of smoke and a loud crack, and they looked wildly around, expecting a dragon, perhaps. Instead, there was a large model of a Quidditch stadium at James' feet. He gave it a bewildered look. There were little figures flying around, some in green robes, marking them as Slytherins, and others in red, marking them as Gryffindors. James eyed the Gryffindor Seeker. "Hey, that's me!"  
"Oh, this should be interesting," Vonn Donn muttered.  
The line scrambled, circled warily around the boggart/model, as they watched the little James figure, along with a Slytherin seeker that looked suspiciously like Snivellus, chase a small golden dot. James and Sirius began to cheer on the little James figure, when suddenly the other figure sped ahead, grabbing the mini-Snitch. James paled, Sirius guffawed.  
"Your worst fear is missing the Snitch?" Evans said with disgust. "Typical of you, Potter, greedy glory hound that you-" She stopped under Vonn Donn's warning gaze.  
James looked far more embarrassed than fearful, and more than a bit angry. "Riddikulus!" he called, and suddenly all the little dancing, celebrating Slytherin figures turned into toads, which ribbeted loudly. (He'd actually wanted to set them on fire or drench them, but he got the distinct feeling that the Slytherin Professor was just waiting for a chance to punish them for the flooding incident.) Slight chuckles filled the room, and the small stadium almost seemed to waver.  
"Philips!" Vonn Donn called, and, hair bouncing, the girl stepped forward, eyes dancing.  
Crack!  
The Quidditch stadium disappeared, replaced with what seemed to be a shadow completely enveloping Jenny. A great cloud of darkness seemed to circle, then almost strike, surrounding her entirely in a swirling mist.  
Vonn Donn started. "Lethifold!" he hissed, assuming this was just the girl's take on it from too many story books, stepping forward with great strides, but suddenly there was a muffled cry of "Riddikulus". Suddenly, there appeared a perfectly round red beacon splitting through the cloud, accompanied by a slight buzzing noise. Strangely enough, there seemed to be, from somewhere behind it, a full-throated, faint cry, sounding like, "Ho-ho, ho-ho," to the bewildered boys. Apparently following the light, Philips stumbled out of the cloud.  
The girl smiled sheepishly, having overheard Vonn Donn. "Er, actually, just pitch black darkness. I don't much like the darkness."  
The class was staring, dumbfounded, at the shadow, the now smaller red beacon circling through it, Lily beginning to crack up.  
"And, er, this?" the professor said confusedly, watching the shadow, which seemed more and more like a thundercloud, seem to try to outrace the mysterious red beacon and whatever was trailing it embroiled within the depths of the cloud.  
Jenny chuckled nervously. "C'mon. Jolly old St. Nick?" she said hopefully. She got a lot of blank looks.  
"Would that be like St. Mungo?" Peter wondered to Sirius, who shrugged.  
Jenny stepped back, her pale cheeks coloring. "Well, it seemed funny at the time," she mumbled, embarrassed. Lily, even more delighted none of the others had any idea what was going on, calmed herself easily but still grinned slightly.  
"This is one bunch of odd kids," Vonn Donn muttered quietly. Sirius and James shot him offended looks as Jenny slinked back. "Bell! Advance!" he barked.  
Callie, violet eyes fearful, stepped forward. The boggart immediatly shifted from the shadow still trailing Jenny to a body laying on the ground. Immediatly, with thin blond hair spilling across the floor, surrounding the head in a terrible halo and purple eyes staring and blank, the body was apparent as Callie's. Multiple slashes crossed the body's robes, and blood surrounded it in a puddle, the gashes no longer spilling but obviously jagged cuts. The girl appeared several years older than Callie was now, definitely in her older teens. The face's expression, deadened, was almost unreadable, but if anything, would be called content. Callie Bell screamed, a loud, piercing cry as she backed desperately away. The class gaped.  
"Potter! Forward!" Vonn Donn barked, and James, staring, leaped forward. With a crack! the body disappeared, replaced by a small version of James circling on his broom, slumped and defeated. Callie continued to scream, while James called, "Riddikulus!", causing his little figure to stand up on his broom and start doing an Irish jig.  
"Philips! Take Miss Bell to the nurse!" Professor Vonn Donn ordered, as Callie's screams faded to long, shuddering sobs, as she buried her face in her hands and began to slump to the floor.  
"What good will the nurse do?" Philips mumbled, as she wrapped an arm around the crying girl, supporting her, and tried to murmur soothing things as she began to steer her to the door. Everyone remained silent as Callie's crumpled form, heaving with sobs, left the room.  
"Well, I'll be... where did that come from?" James wondered as she exited. The three remaining girls united in a cluster, their backs touching, as they glared at James.  
"Don't you mock Callie," Lily warned.  
"She sees things sometimes that scares her," Alice said kindly, with a sad look at the door.  
"Poor thing," Marlene, normally reserved, cried with passion, "she's convinced she'll die young."  
Lily tried not to scoff at this, as she usually did. "Reads too many Divination books," she said quietly. "That awful sixth year, Sibyll, she's always coming around and giving her books of death omens. She starts seeing them everywhere."  
"It's awful, and everyone knows that horrid girl only bothers because she fancies Callie's brother," Alice added indignantly.  
"Oh, for..." Sirius began, but cut off under the powerful force of their glares. "Well, my Great Aunt Cassandra thought she saw things too, but she was wacked. Happens ever so often in pure blood families. Inbreeding," he scoffed, then quailed as he remembered Vonn Donn was right behind him.  
"Well, Alex is normal," James said nervously. "Right?"  
"Callie's normal!" Lily protested, while Alice reassured him, "Oh, yes, Alex thinks the whole things rubbish, he's fine."  
Vonn Donn cleared his throat. "Mister Lupin, if you would be so kind?"  
"You can't mean we're continuing!" Marlene said with horror.  
"Are any of the rest of you mortally concerned with dying?" he asked calmly.  
"Oh, no, dying will be grand!" James said.  
"I truly hope that was sarcasm," Evans groaned, staring at Potter with concern, as if he needed to be locked up in St. Mungo's.  
"Then?" Vonn Donn gestured, slightly menacingly.  
Sirius glared at him. "Somehow, in some way, you will pay for this. Go on, Rem."  
Lupin groaned, and stepped forward. Suddenly, bristling before him, with a crack! was-  
"Moony!" Sirius said quietly, loud enough for only James to hear.  
The werewolf. Himself as a werewolf, menacing and looking far more dangerous then it did even in real life.  
"This is an interesting development," the professor said very, very quietly.  
Remus backed up, eyes darkening. He'd known he'd feared what was within him, but to see it like this- here, now. He stood straighter, as the wolf prepared to jump, calling, "Riddikulus!" and suddenly the wolf became a small, confused wolf-like puppy which began to desperately chase its own tail. He guffawed, and the puppy wavered.  
"On, McKinnon!" Vonn Donn cried, not wanting his boggart destroyed yet, and the freckle faced Irish girl stepped forward, all a tremble.  
A pale, greenish wraith of a woman appeared with a crack! As she opened her mouth to scream, Marlene quickly shot out, "Riddikulus!" and a role of Spell-o-tape appeared, covering the banshee's mouth and beginning to wrap around her head again and again, effectively shutting her up. At the banshee's tape-covering face, the class began to laugh, for the first real time since Callie left, and Marlene, blushing, looked truly delighted.  
Vonn Donn, at the sound of the loud laughter, looked worried, motioning to Anderson to continue. The girl, distracted, jumped up when he barked her name. Eyes wide, she raised her wand as with a crack! the banshee became a wall of fire. Looking almost disappointed, she called the spell, and the fire, clumsily, became the ugliest phoenix any of them had ever seen, plucked clean of its feathers.  
"Pettigrew!" he demanded, gesturing, sighing at the sight of the tremulous kid.  
Crack!  
The Sorting Hat, eyes squinted up, mouth horrifically cut, and with metal teeth glinting from its mouth, began bouncing towards Pettigrew, cackling. Potter sighed heavily, and Black cracked up just at that. Peter, indignant, forgot his tremors and said "Riddikulus," with resignation. The Hat's lips were suddenly zippered together, probably inspired by Marlene's earlier feat. It continued to bounce, more comical now than fearful.  
Black snorted, trying not to double over.  
"The Sorting Hat, Peter?" said James incredulously. Lupin raised an eyebrow.  
Peter sort of ducked. "It creeped me out, okay?" he said quietly. "I don't- things that talk," he struggled.  
"Don't worry. You're the fourth one I've seen today. Different interpretations, of course," the Professor commented. James and Sirius stared at him as if he were mad, which angered him slightly. He glanced pointedly at the bouncing Hat.  
"Evans!"  
The redheaded girl leaped forward, wand raised, as the hat disappeared.  
A blonde teenager stood in its place, her face narrow, long, pinched, and unhappy, as well as twisted in anger, with a noticeably long neck that might have been used to her advantage if it didn't seem to be craning like a giraffe's. "Hellspawn!" she screeched, advancing on Lily, the boggart speaking for the first time. "Witch, with your awful demon friends and rotten school! Oh, I wish you were dea-"  
"Riddikulus," said Lily in a voice devoid of emotion, turning pale. The braying neigh of a mule began to issue from her mouth; combined with her rather horse-like face, her classmates began to chuckle, though Lily didn't laugh. "My sister," she told Vonn Donn tightly in explanation. "I never realized I was scared of her," she said, almost contemptously, seeming to ponder it. "Maybe more what she was saying," she added to herself so quietly and almost sadly that only keen-eared Lupin caught her faint words.  
"This is not a good day," Vonn Donn muttered quietly. He really wasn't terribly old, and the poor guy looked horrified. Never had he encountered a class, until this year, that had such dramatic fears at such a young age. The second year Hufflepuffs had been almost worse- one of them had been scared of him! Far different from the last time he'd been able to try this, when all the Hufflepuff boys had been scared of girls. Times were quickly changing. Darkness, fire, even the Sorting Hat, well, that was at least normal, but he'd been expecting rats, biting books, possibly Muggle clowns. But death, failure, the fear of a werewolf from a werewolf... There hadn't been such fears since- well, since his last year, during the early rise of Grindewald. There was far too much tension between his house and these good kids for his liking, and some of his kids- well, little Bellatrix Black was terrifyingly intense, and Severus Snape, while an excellent kid in his mind, knew an unsettling amount about the Dark Arts.  
"Black!" he snapped. "You're on." Ah, now there was a kid who would have made an excellent Slytherin.  
The dark-haired boy stepped forward, looking less confident than one would have thought. "Bring it on," he told the braying blonde insolently, tilting his head.  
A loud crack! filled the room.  
A chill fell over the room, all happy thoughts and laughter vanishing. Not quite touching the ground, a menacingly tall figure bore down on the boy. With every hissing breath, the room seemed to become colder. Tattered, black robes fluttered in a nonexistent wind. A low pulled hood masked the figure's face. A dead, rotting hand slipped from beneath the figure's robe. All the darkness and menace on the figure was placed on one individual- Sirius Black, who shook like a leaf, all bravado and confidence gone. Two figures appeared in the doorway, one gasping at the sight.  
"R-R-" Sirius stammered, feeling terribly cold and his knees nearly giving out.  
"Dementor," whispered Professor Vonn Donn, advancing.  
Black stood up straighter, fully extending his wand and facing, with a cold look in his eyes, the creature advancing on him. "Riddikulus!" he yelled powerfully.  
With a crack!, the dementor's tattered robes, while staying exactly the same, became an incredibly bright pink and the rotting hand fell off. As the dementor/boggart tried to pick it up, it tripped over its suddenly longer robes and landed on its arse. There was a brief hush, and then suddenly a roar of laughter, especially from James Potter, while an ecstatic Sirius threw up his arms, and the pink dementor disappeared with a great crack! and a poof!  
Sirius Black threw back his head and really, truly laughed at the expression at Vonn Donn's face.  
"I'll need Argus to search the castle immediatly," he muttered, looking ruefully at the trunk. "I have the Ravenclaws for the afternoon today, and I'll need one-"  
"Oh, no you most certainl will not!" came an admonishing voice from the doorway. Minerva McGonagall, striding into the room, having witnessed Sirius' defeat of the boggart, was aghast. "Metternich! These are second years! The moment, the very moment, one encounters a dead copy of herself, you halt the exercise!" she insisted strictly.  
Professor Vonn Donn looked offended. "I have every permission-"  
"You send a devastated, haunted child, down to the nurse-"  
Jenny Philips, behind McGonagell, sidled in with an apologetic look at Vonn Donn. She stepped next to Lily. "Oy, Sirius," she called, a smirk twisting her face. "Inspired by the disaster at the Quiberon Quafflepunchers latest game, I expect?"  
He grinned. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know."  
"I missed that game!" James wailed, interrupting. "Somebody explain-"  
Lily, distracted from watching McGonagall chew out the Slytherin professor, who protested, waving some strange piece of paper, turned with an annoyed look. "What is the fascination with Quidditch, anyways? And Jenny, why on earth are you talking to them?" The look she gave James and Sirius was a withering one.  
"I'm not speaking to them as-"  
"-as Marauders, she's speaking to us as Quidditch players," James provided, finishing for her, "assuming we all make the team at tryouts tomorrow, though of course, I'm guaranteed. Plus, c'mon, she talks to me all summer when our evil parents force us together for dinner-"  
Lily began to argue with him.  
"Don't you go calling your parents evil, yours are lovely people while mine actually fit the adjective used-" Sirius began.  
"Wait, Marauders?" Peter started, bewildered at the use of the word, which James kept throwing into conversation recently.  
All of them instantly closed their mouths as Professor McGonagall came swooping down on them. Vonn Donn, looking grumpy, left swiftly, slamming the door behind him, as he headed, presumably, to the headmaster's office.  
"What'd you tell her for, anyhow?" Alice whispered to Philips.  
"Caught us on the stairwell, sent Flitwick down with Callie," the other girl swiftly shot back in answer.  
Adjusting her glasses, the teacher studied them all. "Head to lunch," she informed them all. "A few minutes early never hurt anyone." They began to bolt for the door, but she caught Sirius by the back of his collar. "Not you, Mr. Black."  
"Food," Sirius said mournfully, looking to the doorway.  
James glanced back, and paused uncertainly. "Meet us in the library," he told Sirius, "I'll grab you lots to eat."  
Sullenly looking up at the teacher, clad in dark green robes, Sirius gave her an indignant look. "What?"  
Her auburn-brown hair, matching the leaves of early fall, bobbed in its taut bun as she narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you know, Mister Black, how many known dementors there are in England?"  
Sirius blinked, raven hair falling into his eyes. "Er. A lot?"  
"Seventy. Legally, that is, there are probably several more lurking about, possibly many more among the Muggles. The rest fled after the Grindewald war, whereabouts unknown. Black, all seventy of those dementors are, beyond doubt, in Azkaban, acting as guards," McGonagall told him, not unkindly but in an unusual manner.   
"Oh. What's your point?" he asked, trying not to be belligerent. "See, I'm really, really hungry-"  
"Professor Vonn Donn may see nothing strange in a twelve year old student knowing exactly what the presence of one is like, but I do. When did you see a dementor, Sirius?" McGonagall inquired sharply, her piercing eyes seeming to look right through him.  
Immediately, he was on the defensive. He shifted slightly from foot to foot, but looked her straight in the eye. "Never seen one. Read about them in one of my father's books." The lie came easily. His features proclaimed, with his wide eyes, that he was the very soul of innocence and virtue.  
Her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, changing her entire expression. "Black, I must ask you for the truth. I have encountered dementors in my youth. I can assure you, it is impossible for anyone, under any circumstances, to draw such a depiction from a mere description," she informed him crisply.  
"I have a highly active imagination," he said flatly, dark hair shadowing his face as it fell across his brow, seemingly throwing a veil over his eyes. "Highly active."  
"I am well aware of that, Black. Yet no description ever written can adequately convey the coldness one feels around them. It is something which must be experienced to be copied by any fool boggart." A note of sarcasm almost imperceptibly entered her voice. "I highly doubt, Black, that any member of your esteemed, well-connected family has entered Azkaban of late, and I even more highly doubt you would have visited them. If there is something I, or more importantly Professor Dumbledore, needs to know, it could be invaluable that you share this information." Her voice softened. "You are a good student, Sirius- though heaven knows I wish you would simply apply yourself, put some effort into your studies. You have proved yourself to be a loyal Gryffindor, as have your friends. Your heart is in the right place, even if, more often than not, you and your friends are simply rogues-"  
"We're calling ourselves Marauders, now, if I've been listening to James right, for this week, anyway," Sirius interrupted, desperately trying to change the subject.  
Her lips twitched, barely, as if straining not to smile. Then her face tightened, and she gripped his shoulder, bending slightly to his eye level. "You may have heard some... oddities over the past few years, Black. Mysterious disappearances and fires in Muggle areas, unusual deaths in Muggle towns. A... straining of relations between pure-bloods and Muggle- borns. Perhaps your mother refused to shop in certain stores?"  
His lips tightened, turning white as they pressed tightly. Otherwise, his face remained the same.  
"There is a dark aura in the air, Black, and its cause has thus far named itself to very few. Aurors are overworked, and the headmaster is... concerned. Within our very school, two students have fallen into a mysterious sleep... both Muggle-born. There have been very strange rumors, as of late. I am hoping... perhaps, there is something you could tell me? Where, for example, you saw this dementor?"  
Sirius let out a breath in a slight, almost whistling sound. "Professor McGonagall, I read about them in my father's book." His dark eyes were entirely closed off, meeting hers evenly. "Now, may I go? Or are you going to give me a detention?"  
She looked at him from over her glasses, with something approaching disappointment. McGonagall released his shoulder, straightening regally. Very quietly, she told him, "Loyalty can also be a terrible thing, Sirius Black. And, indeed, a dangerous one." She turned and left the room, green robes, the color of Evans' eyes, swishing behind her.  
Watching her retreating back, Sirius angrily kicked a desk, painfully biting his lip as he did so. Brows furrowed, he gathered his books and stormed off in the direction of the library.  
He found his friends in a corner, hiding out from Madam Pince, who would surely die at the sight of food in her library. Setting his books on the floor and trying not to slam them, Sirius slid into his seat, grinning cheerfully. "Oy," he piped, grabbing a sandwich, "food!"  
Remus was carefully taking notes, preparing which books each of them would select for Binns' class so as not to appear suspicious. Without lifting his head, he questioned, "What'd McGonagall want?"  
Sirius shrugged nonchalantly, mouth full. "Uh, ah tink at," he swallowed, "she was asking me about class and stuff, whether anybody got hurt, yadda yadda. Then she told me I was a natural for Vonn Donn and Flitwick's dueling club," he beamed.  
James looked at Sirius sourly. "Liar."  
Remus and Peter both looked up in surprise. They hadn't doubted Sirius for a second.  
Sirius, a sandwich half way to his lips, paused. "C'mon, James, don't be a git. Why would I lie to you?"  
James frowned. "Good bloody question. And just a bit over a week ago, we said no secrets! What, forgotten that already?"  
Sirius jerked slightly, stiffening. He grabbed some pumpkin juice, guzzled it. His friends had all paused in their efforts now, looking at him. "I'm not lying," he protested charmingly.  
James, hazel eyes darkening, spoke in a hard voice Sirius had rarely heard him use before. "Yes. You. Are. But why? This wasn't even something important," he protested, shaking his head in disbelief.  
Sirius sat in an odd position, body leaning almost menacingly forward. If he'd been an animal, the whole purpose of them sitting in the musty library, his hackles would have been raised. "Who made it your place to judge what's important?" he challenged, almost in a sneer, face shadowed. He grabbed his books. "There are some things that aren't so easily shared, James." Open-mouthed, his friend rose, blocking his way.  
"Sir," he started, confused. "I didn't mean... what's wrong? Can I help?"  
Sirius deflated, shoulders slumping. "No, James. It's... not important. A- a family thing. Look, keep working, all right? I'll see you in Potions." He shouldered past his friend.  
Peter, timidly, asked, "But, Sirius, where are you going?"  
He didn't turn around or pause. "I need to be alone for a little while," he mumbled, threading through shelves to push open the large doors, leaving the library and his friends behind.  
He ran down the twisting stairs, impatiently jumping the sinking step, which he'd have to be an amateur to get caught in. When he'd reached the first floor, he took one look at Filch patrolling near the main entrance and headed down a different corridor. Leaping on the platform of a bust, he leaned towards a low window, muttering, "Alohomora," to unlock it. With a slow, grinding creak, he inched it open, then strained to pull himself up to the ledge. Struggling through the opening, he jumped a good few feet to reach solid ground, rolling to protect himself from the hedges as he landed uncomfortably on the ground. Confused and uncertain with himself, he really had no idea where he was going. But there had been something which was nagging at him, haunting him through the week, and something deeper, bothering him a good half of the summer.  
It was bright out, sunny, not befitting his mood. Several older students were eating their lunch outside, enjoying the warm breezes of the early fall. He dodged them. He wasn't really too concerned with making class on time, either, but he had a good while before worrying about that.  
He was terribly surprised to find himself on the doorstep of Hagrid's small house, more of a hut, really. It wasn't as if they were particularly good friends, either. He'd found the enormous gameskeeper to be quite friendly, laughing uproariously when Sirius'd knocked the occupants of his boat into the lake, and he'd been helpful, if clueless, when James had come along, dragging Sirius and Peter, demanding answers regarding werewolves near the end of last year. The poor fellow was probably one of the few on the staff who had no idea about Remus' condition. He seemed like an awfully nice guy, though. Hadn't said one word about Sirius' family, though he'd looked at him askance until Sirius was placed in Gryffindor, which seemed to place him above reproach. Hesitantly, the boy knocked on the large door.  
There was a pregnant pause and a slight shuffling sound, and the door was suddenly flung open. The bearded, immensely tall fellow looked down with mild surprise at his visitor, clutching an incredibly large mug in his hand. "Well, if it i'nt young Sirius Black! What yer doin' here abouts, Sirius?"  
Unsure of himself for once and not feeling like applying his typical charm, Sirius attempted a grin. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind some company for lunch."  
The gameskeeper looked rather pleased, if a bit doubtful of Sirius' motives. "O' course you're welcome, Sirius. 'Ere, I'll make some tea. C'mon inside." He swung open the large door to allow Sirius in.  
A huge, spotted brown dog came tumbling out of a corner, leaping on Sirius and drooling on his face. He panted heavily, wagging his tail wildly, on his hind legs equal to height as Sirius. The dog snapped his jaws mere inches from Sirius' face, though playfully, but the fangs were surely sharp.  
"Down, Tiny, down," Hagrid scolded, grabbing the dog by the scruff of his neck. "Sorry 'bout that," he said apologetically to Sirius, keeping the whimpering dog back. "He gets a li'l excitable 'round company."  
Sirius rubbed the back of his neck, wiping off some drool that had dripped there. "Ah, I don't mind. I like dogs. Better than some people, I figure," he said, patting the dog, which rolled over to have its belly rubbed. "Don't suppose you'd ever let it in the school? I know a couple of cats that, er, Tiny would love to ea- chase," he corrected himself quickly, sidling into the seat.  
"Fruitcake?" said Hagrid cheerfully, setting a kettle to boil and reaching for a bread basket. "Or do you prefer biscuits?"  
Sirius eyed the rock-hard bread. "The biscuits look excellent," he decided, taking one. He lifted a knife, trying to slice it. The blade broke. His eyebrows shot up, but he simply spread the butter on top instead and took a cautious bite, trying not to break a tooth.  
"Made 'em myself," said Hagrid proudly, settling into his chair, causing a long creaking on the wood. His pleasant beetle-black eyes looked Sirius over. "Where are your mates, Sirius?"  
Chewing thoughtfully on the bread, which felt like little pebbles in his mouth, Sirius groaned. "In the library. I didn't feel like talking to them.They all seemed so... happy. I like being happy much better than being miserable, but when I'm miserable, I hate it when someone else is happy." He slumped, tilting his chair back.  
Hagrid shifted in his chair, checking on the tea. "I sup'ose we all feel tha' way sometimes. What bee's in your bonnet, young mister Black?"  
His face looked sad, like a young boy's. "Hagrid, have you ever encountered a dementor?"  
Hagrid shuddered slightly. "Yeah. When- when I was expelled, ya' know, I was questioned- one o' them was lurkin' abouts. Unpleasant things, dementors."  
"See, I saw one. Over the summer. It didn't seem all that important at the time... but I guess it was." Sirius looked rather angry. "My father's friends- they're not good people. Causing trouble. And a few of them were at our house- with one of those things. I didn't realize what it was at first. My brother and I were supposed to be asleep, y'know? But we were goofing off, up late, and we heard noises. And we saw some stuff we weren't supposed to. My father's not even really involved, but he let them do it. And- and I don't know what to say, because- because even though I hate him I don't want him to get in trouble and I don't know if this will get him in trouble and I should want him to get in trouble but I don't because even though he's awful I want him to like me!" he exploded, the words coming forth in a louder stream.  
Hagrid handed him a cup of tea, his expression seeming worried and yet sympathetic behind his thick beard. "I unnerstand, I guess. My mother- she wa'nt exactly good folks neither, but my pa loved her anyway. Funny things, families."  
Sirius figured from Hagrid's size his mother was probably a giantess, but he knew he'd never say anything, whether that was the case or not. "It's stupid," he said sulkily. "And there are all these stupid sayings, blood's thicker than water, blood never lies, blood will tell- I don't see what's so damn important about blood."  
"'Xactly," Hagrid said, nodding. "But it's becomin' more an' more important to some people, Sirius. Maybe ya should tell one of yer friends abou' whatever it is. I donno if I'm the best fella to be talkin' to 'bout this."  
Sirius kicked the floor slightly. "They're lucky, though. Their families are good ones. I'm... I want to protect my family, even if they don't care whether I live or die. My friends, they won't get that. They'll say they do, maybe even think they do, but deep down they won't. I'm just twelve. I'm not supposed to have to worry about things like this. I just wanna play Quidditch and sneak into the forest and pull pranks. I don't know if anyone else knows what I know or whether or not it really matters. I don't know if my father's involved with the stuff that's going on or if he's just looking the other way or if he really supports it or not. I don't understand our world sometimes, Hagrid. Don't reckon I ever will." Sirius Black didn't cry, hadn't since he was six, but every once in a while he wanted to, and this was one of those times.  
"More tea?" Hagrid said at last, and Sirius nodded, eager to forget the conversation. They fell to talking about Quidditch, then some of the creatures Hagrid had fetched for Professor Kettleburn. Casually, when the topic of the uses of such creatures at Hogwarts came up, Sirius asked, "What pulls the carriages? Remus thinks it's something unseen."  
Hagrid, pleased to be asked, leaned forward slightly, planting his arms on the table, which sunk under his weight. "Ah, those are thestrals. Never heard of 'em, have ya? Not many people have, ya know. Horse-like bein's, sweet as can be, but some people don't like 'em much cause they're so ugly. Not that it matters, what wi' only people who've seen someone die can see 'em, ya know."  
Sirius didn't let on that this news alarmed him. That meant- oh, Salazar he'd seen that bloke die and never even realized it. This changed things.  
Hagrid, oblivious, continued. "'Course, Professor Dumbledore took 'em in, when nobody else woulda taken 'em. Gives 'em somethin' to do an' everything. Great man, Dumbledore." This led to a bit of a spiel on why Dumbledore was a great man, before Tiny, nudging for food, let his wagging tail knock a clock on the floor. Hagrid, setting it back on its table, exclaimed with dismay at the time.  
"Blimey! Yer late for yer next class. Lunch is defin'tly over by now." He began to push Sirius towards the door. "Hurry up, hurry up! I may not be qui' sure on the rules o' my position all the time, but I know I'm no' allowed to keep students from their class."  
"I won't get you in trouble," Sirius promised easily, grabbing his books from where he'd dropped them on the floor. "I run like the wind. Oh, come watch Quidditch tryouts tommorow, all right? James is really something on a broomstick." He bolted for the door, tearing back a path on the way to the castle. He would have headed for the window, but Potions was at the other end of the building, and he remembered a secret passageway they'd found last year during an attempt to escape the Slytherin common room, also in the dungeons.  
Heading to the side of the building, he dropped down flat on the ground, hurridly pushing aside weeds until he found a stone slightly more forward than the others. Sirius, grinning, shoved it in, pleased as the stone slid downward, allowing a crawl space. He chucked his books in, then slid into it himself, the rock closing again behind him. It almost clipped his feet, but he quickly tucked them in as he crawled, in the dark, until the tunnel grew broader and higher, allowing him to stand to his full height and run. He was thrilled, a cloud of dust and dirt enveloped him from the crawl, his knees were beginning to ache, and he was sick of pushing his books in front of him.  
He jerked to a halt, pinning himself against the wall at a noise up ahead. A slight 'meow' could be heard, then the light of a torch. Standing in the darkness, he caught a glimpse of a mangy cat with reddish eyes and a raggidly clad man with roving eyes. Filch. In one of their passageways! Murmuring to himself darkly, his cat at his heels.  
"Poltergeist in a school, doesn't belong, filthy little children, I'll string them up by their toes, and they'll scream, oh, how they'll scream- darling? What do you spy?" For the cat, the wicked feline, had stopped suddenly, her body extended, eyes glowing, right in Sirius' direction.  
Black had sheer seconds to think. He sprinted, rounding back a corner where there was a divergent pathway. Making the hair splitting turn into the narrower tunnel, he practically flew, running at top speed, only, to his horror, to find himself unable to stop as he skidded into another figure holding a torch up along in the pathway. "Douse it, douse it," he yelped.  
"Sheez, who is-" But the torch was crushed against the dirt wall by the figure, who grabbed Sirius' shoulder and demanded what was going on.  
"Filch," he breathed, "in the tunnel."  
"Ah, no, and Apollyon never found one," the figure complained, gripping Sirius' shoulder and dragging him along. He pressed something into Black's hand, Sirius having to shift all his books to his other arm in order to grab it. "Whoever you are, I hope you can throw," he breathed, running so quickly even Sirius had trouble keeping up. Holding the torch, Filch, moving quickly, was cackling, his cat bolting ahead.  
Black grinned and threw the Dung Bomb. He hit Mrs. Norris. They left sounds of coughing and yowling behind them as they bolted. Reaching what Sirius and his friends had taken last year to be a dead end, the figure produced a key. Bending, the tall figure blew dust from what turned out to be a door, a musty keyhole revealing itself. He stuck it in, quickly, Sirius praying fervently the figure wasn't a teacher.  
"Hurry, hurry, we don't want to be in here," the figure said quickly, the knobless door swinging open and letting in the light.  
"Prewett?" Sirius questioned, shocked as Fabian Prewett's form became visible. He wasn't really all that tall, but at sixteen, seemed quite tall to Sirius.  
"Black?" Fabian responded, equally surprised as he closed the door with a click. He took on his 'prefect' face. "What were you doing in there?"  
"Could ask you the same thing," Sirius answered sharply.  
Fabian grinned. "Oh, I got out of class claiming prefect responsibility- Flitwick'll buy anything. I was heading to steal some stuff from the Potions master's cupboards. Fletcher say he'll pay me thirty Galleons if I can get my hands on a bezoar- he's got a buyer, apparently, maybe within the school, but personally I think he's just covering up his own paranoia. Don't know, don't care."  
"I was trying to get to Potions class," Sirius admitted, "and, er, where are we?"  
His surroundings were a strange circular room with a rounded top, spelled like the Great Hall so that the sky was visible, but even though it was day, the ceiling displayed night. All sorts of strange charts and blue or black globes with connected silver dots filled the room. "Professor Auriga's office," Fabian answered calmly, naming the Astronomy professor, "at the base of the Astronomy Tower, and before you ask, I stole the key, and no, Auriga has no idea about the tunnel." Grabbing Sirius' arm, he led him out the door nonchalantly, walking as if intended to be there.  
"I can't get detention," Sirius added as they ended up in the hallway, "any other time, sure, I'd be thrilled, but Quidditch tryouts are tommorow-"  
"And I've just seen how good your arm and aim are, so I really shouldn't be helping the competition," Fabian mused. "Hmm. I'll have to justify it. Are we related?"  
"What?" asked Sirius, in shock.  
"Well, we're related to most pure blood families, but not anyone in your year that Gideon and I know of, so it only figures we've got to be related to you in one way or another, but obviously I'm not related to Andromeda- I think, and-"  
"My uncle Alphard's married to your cousin's aunt," Sirius said quickly, having been forced to have his family tree memorized from the time he was four.  
"Really?" said Fabian curiously. "That's not my side of the family, that aunt- I've just got a mess of uncles, which would make you my cousin's cousin by marriage- which, really, means absolutely nothing, but let's pretend it does." He looked at Sirius' bewildered face and waved off the boy's confusion. "Enh, it was just a side bet I had with Gideon- I'm not quite sure which one of us won."  
"You're very odd, you know," Black told him.  
"Thanks. Same to you," Fabian said. "Mention to Andy that I helped you, will you? We're in a bit of a tiff."  
"We've only been back in school for a little over a week," Sirius said incredulously, as Fabian marched him through the halls, not so much as a ghost giving them a strange look.  
"Well, we seem always to be in a tiff," Fabian said, straightening his golden hair. "She seems to think for some reason we stole her sister's broom- I mean, c'mon, Narcissa doesn't even fly. It's an affront she'd accuse my brother and I of taking it."  
"Did you?"  
"Well, yeah. But that's not the point. Just mention it, alright?"  
"How exactly are you saving me?"  
"The perks of being a prefect, Black. The perks. Make it all worthwhile. Gideon doesn't see it that way, but, well, that's brothers for you," Fabian said, steering him down towards the dungeon. "Ah, how have the Filibusters been working out for you?"  
"Oh, splendid. We used them on Henson, accidently destroying a cauldron or two- she nearly fainted. Er, we blew up a couple of toilet seats, too, and also set them off under Snivellus' seat last night at the feast," Sirius said happily. "We'll definitely be ordering more."  
"Excellent." By now, they were in the dungeons, one more slight turn and they were at the Potions classroom. Fabian adjusted his prefect's badge so it was apparent, spitting on it and quickly shining it, obviously something he rarely bothered to do from its tarnish. The door was open, so Fabian stuck his head in, knocking on the open door.  
Henson, jeans sticking out beneath her robe, stopped explaining the ingredients of a Dreary Draught to look at Fabian and Sirius, behind him, both of them covered in light dust. Fabian smiled politely at the thin woman, whose equally thin, whitish blonde hair was tucked up in a high bun. "Professor Henson, ma'am. I hope you'll accept my apologies. I waylaid Black here on his way to class in order to help me clean a dreadful mess brought about by the poltergeist. He was airing some curtains he'd pulled from the windows, Professor, trying to get all the dust- and believe me, ma'am, there was a lot of it- on the poor little Hufflepuff first years."  
"How dreadful!" Professor Henson said, eyes widening, hand leaping to her throat, and a few of the Hufflepuffs in the class let out similar remarks, as did Evans. James' face was buried in his hands, presumably in dismay, though those sitting near him could tell he was forcing his mouth closed so as not to laugh.  
"As a prefect, Professor, it was my obligation to clean it up," Fabian said with deep sincerity, "but I, as a prefect, certainly respect the rule of no magic between classes, so I selected a few passing students to help me. I hope you'll accept my apology that Black missed most of your class, and I accept full responsibility."  
"Oh, it's no trouble," Henson began immediatly, "and if there's anything I could do to help-"  
Fabian looked serious. "Well, it would help a lot if you had any potions to help remove some slick substance applied to the floor by Peeves, since the caretaker seems to be blaming me-"  
"Oh, of course!" Henson responded naively. "Help yourself to my cupboard."  
Sirius, unable to believe it, slipped into his seat. "One of us has got to be a prefect," he mumbled, James scoffing and stuffing his fists over his own mouth to keep himself quiet. One derisive remark could bring a detention, and he would not miss tryouts. By now, he was more than a bit paranoid.  
Fabian, walking out with what appeared to just be the potion needed (though truly, there was much more in his pockets), smiled and thanked Henson, who blushed, saying it was nothing, missing Prewett's wink at Sirius as he traipsed away.  
Henson began again, demonstrating carefully as she poured one vial into another.  
Remus whipped out a piece of parchment, pretending to take notes, then showed it to Sirius.

_'Where were you?'_  
Scribbling back, Sirius added,  
**'Hagrid's. Problem, though, Moony. Filch found the west secret dungeons entrance.'**  
_'No!_'  
**'Unfortunately, yes'**, Sirius answered, quill flying. **'And what McGonagall really wanted to know was where I'd seen a dementor.'  
** There was a pause. _'I didn't think about that_,' Remus wrote cautiously. _'Why are you telling me?_'  
Sirius wrote extremely rapidly, wanting it all out, in his nearly illegible, large, looping, careless handwriting. **'I'm telling all of you. You can just show this to James and Peter when I'm finished. It's not something I want to talk about. Look, this summer, late August, after I'd seen you guys, my uncle- that's Bellatrix's father, hates me- came over, with a tall guy in a cloak and a young Russian guy, really late at night. Oh, and another fellow, who I think was Lestrange's father. My brother and I had been getting along that day- sometimes we do, and we were goofing off- quietly, in my house- and were watching at the top of the stairs. Tall guy was in a really weird cloak, didn't touch the ground. Felt really cold around him. My father called him a 'dementor', sounded really disgusted and wanted it out of our house. Looked it up later. They're scary things. They were all talking about this fellow from their school days who'd come back. Lord something or other. Transylvanian, I thought. But his real name's Riddle. Tom Riddle. Not even a pure-blood name. There's something crazy going on in the world, for sure. They wanted my father in, since my uncle's in. My father said he supported it, sure, but he liked his position in the ministry- wouldn't chance it. They seemed satisfied enough. Then there was a noise in the street, and from beneath it's hood, I swear, Moony, the dementor looked right at me. I had to cover Regulus' mouth so he wouldn't scream, then we ran back to our room, watching as they all ran outside. And out the window,' **here there was a blot of ink, as Sirius hesitated, the teacher assuming his frantic scribblings were copying notes. He dipped his quill again and continued, Remus reading over his shoulder and looking deeply concerned.** 'The Russian guy went outside, and there was this drunk Muggle banging cans and stuff. And he raised his wand and said something, Russian I guess, and a purple thing shot out of his wand, like a sword strike. The Muggle fell down, and he didn't get up. Then they came back in, and my father was yelling, not really upset but he didn't want to be involved with this but Uncle Rigel told him the Muggle was injured, not dead, and my father said alright, and I think maybe he gave them money, and then they went away. But I found out the things that pull the carriages, scary bony reptile horses with bat wings, can only be seen if you see someone die, and Rem, I've never seen anyone else die, and what do I do?**' Sirius, having finished his frantic scribbling, looked to his friend.  
The werewolf, sandy hair falling into his grey eyes, looked thoughtful, and passed it to James, who'd drawn the diagram of a Quidditch stadium on his parchment and looked surprised. He began to read it with a smirk, believing it was a joke, then looked scared as he continued reading, Peter, next to him, reading slower but with greater fright.  
Class ended swiftly, and the parchment was returned, with three answers.  
In Remus' precise, swift writing was one word. '_Tell_.'  
Peter had written, in his neat, painstaking printing, 'Do what you think is best.'  
James scribbled carefully, in his tight, small, and demanding writing, **_'Philips' mother and my father both work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and talk about nothing else, so listen to me 'cause I know. This guy, they're after him. Lord Voldemort. No one knows who he really is, except Dumbledore and the top Ministry guys, including my dad's boss. Look, the only thing you know that they don't is proof they've got dementors on their side, which McGonagall has probably figured it out, or they will. If you tell Dumbledore, one of two things will happen. He might pretend he didn't hear you or something equally goofy, after imparting something probably wise. Or, more likely, he'll be forced to tell the Ministry. It'll go to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They'll haul in your father, uncle, and Lestrange for questioning, but it'll soon be blown off as a kid's make-believe story because their word, as respectable, rich members of society, is worth more than yours. And then, Sirius, you're dead. Quite possibly literally. As I said the other night, Dumbledore knows what he needs to know. I really doubt he needs this information, but if he does, he'll seek you out. Now, stop reading this stupid piece of parchment, forget about, as will we, and start thinking about Quidditch!_**' A small snitch dotted James' last exclamation point.  
Sirius, reading fast, looked up. The classroom was empty except for Henson, looking at him curiously, and his friends, waiting impatiently for him at the door. He grinned, beaming, feeling like his true self once more, and headed to trail after his friends, throwing an arm over both Remus and James' shoulders, patting Peter on the head since he'd have to sag in order to drape an arm over his shoulders. "Ah, after tryouts tommorow, I've got some brilliant ideas of how to drive Filch crazy, but which are absolutely certain to get us detention. Not to mention, I think that bloody cat is his substitute for a wife, since he can't get one... We're gonna get him, and his little pet, too!" he cackled.  
James punched his friend lightly in the arm. "Keep that up and you're sure to be a hyena when we finally figure it out." His face brightened. "You figure I'll be a tiger or a lion? Or maybe a hawk?"  
Remus shook his head in disbelief. "Oh, and Sirius, we decided who'll do what report for Binns' class."  
His face soured. "Ech. Report."  
Remus handed him a book. "Yours is on Quidditch. Invented in the eleventh century."  
"Mmm, Quidditch," Sirius said, delighted.  
"I wanted that," James complained. "It's unfair I have to be the one to do Transfiguration, even though it wouldn't make sense for anybody else- "  
"Snivellus, ten o' clock," Peter said suddenly.  
They swiveled, reaching in their pockets, James whipping out his wand, a glint of light gleaming off his glasses...

"...not sit with you or anywhere near you, especially after poor Severus Snape had to be treated for burns because you set his pants on fire," Evans was saying the next afternoon.  
"He was fine," Peter argued. "I mean, he cast the Freezing Charm right away..."  
"Just get down before someone sees you," Remus hissed, from his point behind the bleachers, beckoning them away from the open area. Alex Bell was known to be slightly obsessive about secrecy. If someone wasn't involved in tryouts, then he wasn't welcome.  
Reluctantly, both others drifted over.  
"Why are you even here?" Peter asked curiously, "I thought you hated Quidditch."  
"Hate is a strong word reserved only for Potter under certain circumstances," Evans retorted. "Anyway, I have a friend trying out, too." She turned to Remus after a puzzled glance at the field. "Lupin? Why are they running?"  
"Good question," Remus said, watching his friends circle around the stadium in a line, following the others trying out and the existing Quidditch team, ahead of all. Only four positions were open, but it seemed at least sixteen Gryffindors were competing for the spots, James and Sirius looking awfully small among the older competitors. "Get down, here they come!" He paused. "And pull your hood over your hair, please, Evans. It's too noticeable." Realizing the truth of that, Lily complied.  
None of the potential Quidditch players had expected to be forced to run. At least it was a sunny day, thought Remus. Sirius was clearly enjoying himself, bounding and loping about the field, dodging between others and running backwards at times to dishearten exasperated competitors. Belby, a fourth year, grew so annoyed he attempted to grab him, but Sirius simply laughed and leaped away.  
He was never far from James, who had an intense look of determination on his face. He'd apparently decided this was some kind of test, and, hazel eyes practically glowing, he was jockeying his way to the front. He knew he was fast, and intended to prove it, determined to be Seeker no matter what. Yet when Sirius passed close, jumping and driving others mad, James couldn't resist grinning broadly and bounding himself.  
Philips was also among the group, long legs stretching easily, simply trying to stay in the middle. Unlike the others, she'd been warned by Callie Bell that the girl's brother would try to tire them out first, so she simply joined in the running chant started to insure even the stragglers kept pace, probably by one of the Muggle-born teammates.  
"I don't know but I've been told,  
Dumbledore is mighty old.  
Sound off; one, two,  
Sound off; three, four  
All together now:  
One, two, three, four,  
one, two, three, four,  
one, two- three, four!"  
Alex suddenly halted them, looking very serious, and gestured for them to pick up their brooms from where they'd arranged them. Not particularly tall, he was an excellent Chaser and determined to end Ravenclaw's long domination of the Quidditch Cup, especially since Gryffindor hadn't won a single game in all his years here. But now he was the Captain, and that would change. His medium brown hair, cut relatively short, ruffled slightly in the strong wind. Unlike his younger sister, who was merely attractive, Alex was quite good-looking, enough to have been in plenty of fist-fights and duels with anyone who called him a pretty boy. He glared around at the group, softening slightly when he saw James.  
"Listen up, you dogs," he began, and Celia Knight, a very pretty sixth year Keeper, bit her lip to avoid a chuckle. He looked pained. Everyone except Celia knew that Alex liked her desperately, but was too scared to ask her to so much as a Hogsmeade weekend. He tried again. "This year, this team is going to change. We'll be practicing almost every night- "  
"Wait, what?" demanded MacDougal, another Chaser, from behind him, a third year who'd had no forewarning of this plan.  
Alex glared. "Almost every night, so that we can actually win this year and not shame the good house of Gryffindor. This is our chance to rebuild the team, now that four of our seventh years, are, at long last, gone."  
Peter and Remus exchanged glances behind the bleachers, wincing at the memory of the disastrous four who'd left (who, it was rumored, had all actually signed with the Chudley Cannons- not boding well for the orange- clad team's future).  
"Those of you who want to be a Seeker, line up in front of me. Chasers, head to Celia here," he said, indicating the tall girl with a page cut of dark blond hair behind him, who grinned. "MacDougal will take the Beaters."  
Sirius looked to James, sticking out his bottom lip and making a sad face.  
Philips, passing between them, feigned a swoon. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."  
Sirius, making a face at her, gestured quickly with his wand once she'd turned, causing her to trip. She crashed into Belby, who glowered. "Sorry," Jenny squeaked at the hulking fourth year. "I'm terribly clumsy, sorry."  
Pleased with himself, Sirius, clutching his Cleansweep Five, a recent broom, trotted over to MacDougal, who looked intimidated by the crowd gathering around him, especially those older than him. "Well," MacDougal started slowly, nervously, "I guess we'll begin by, er," he looked nervously at Alex across the way, who hadn't really given him any instructions.  
Sirius was dwarfed in the center of the small group of five, which included even seventh years. He leaped up, so his head could briefly be seen, shouting, "Unleashing several bludgers and seeing who does the best job of keeping them away from the wannabe Chasers and Seekers?"  
McDougal looked uncertain. "I really don't think that's the best idea- "  
"Well, there's not enough of you to test us any other way," grumbled a fifth year girl.  
A burly fellow said in a deep voice that wasn't intended to be menacing, "I think it sounds fine."  
MacDougal yeeped quietly, then said, "Sounds good."  
Remus squinted over where the Beaters seemed already to be beginning, while Bell and Knight were explaining to those around them the position, holding up respective balls. James' group was the largest, most Gryffindors eager to attempt to win the position so often associated with victory. James was practically bouncing, whether with nerves or excitement it was impossible to tell. Several chests, a good set and two practice sets, were being opened, a fact Bell and Knight failed to notice. Remus paused, then whistled slightly, an impressed yet very negative sound. Lily, he noticed, was watching James with intense dislike, particularly since he'd been saying for days he was a good as on the team. She really hoped he'd fail, just to bring him down several pegs. Evans had no idea how much it would hurt James if that happened, not seeing behind his arrogance to what truly mattered to him, Remus decided. It would kill James not to make the Quidditch team and he didn't see why a girl who was so smart couldn't see that, particularly one typically concerned with the feelings of others.  
Five potential Beaters mounted and rose into the air, Sirius looking thrilled even from this distance. MacDougal, struggling against the bound balls he'd been brought, suddenly unleashed six Bludgers into the air, just as the Chasers began to head over to the goalposts to attempt to score on Celia and the Snitch was released.  
Sirius laughed, the wind sending his shaggy hair all about, spreading his arms wide, his stout Beater club clutched in his left hand. Sirius was a southpaw, after all (sometimes, with some things- he used his wand with his right, but wrote with his left). He glanced over to see the Seekers take off, ducking just in time as a Bludger swooped right where his head had been. With a whoop, he took off after it.  
James' eye had been on the Snitch since it took off, and now he was after it. This time, they weren't supposed to let it out of their sight to find it later, it was a race to see who would catch it fastest. He would win. He heard a loud bang behind him, didn't bother to turn. If he had, he would have seen a Bludger hit the broom of the flyer behind him, sending it spiraling and its rider grimly clinging on for dear life. He felt, only, the wind, to his delight, thoroughly mussing his hair. He missed Sirius zooming by on his left, knocking two Bludgers at once away from him and then saluting; he was concentrating on diving past the fellow on his right and coming up in front of him from below. This was life.  
Belby, franctically, surrounded the small group of Chasers, a large portion of whom were Celia's sixth year friends, who, to their friend's dismay, screamed and ducked every time a Bludger came near. Having picked up an extra club from a Beater who'd been hit square in the face immediatly, he swatted desperately at the Bludgers, while more skilled potential Chasers simply ducked. He didn't notice a lightweight young girl, clumsy on the ground but not on the air, impressing the Keeper by persistently attempting good moves and even scoring on her many more times than Celia would have liked.  
Sirius, thoroughly enjoying himself, took a Bludger in the arm without even noticing, deflecting it away from the Seekers. He belted Bludger after Bludger, lips forming a devil-may-care grin, wholloping them thoroughly as he zoomed around like a human Bludger himself.  
Philips dodged for the right, and Celia, certain from the girl's posture she was aiming for the middle, covered that, only to be shocked when it zoomed in the left, lower hoop, out of her reach.  
James, far, far ahead of any competitors, entered the clouds as the Snitch began to turn in midair to head back down, no longer traveling up but in a lowering loop to the right. Not willing to turn himself, he clutched his broom desperately, pointing it upward and then pulling it back until he hung upside down, speeding rapidly, following the same loop as the Snitch. Locking his legs tightly and gripping strongly with his left hand, he let his right hand reach for it as he tilted his head back in order to see it. His fingers, nails cut down to the quick, stretching, their warmth clutching cool metal as he grasped the Snitch, its feathers fluttering against his palm. Clinging to the broom, hand held up in elation with the Snitch, he completed the loop until he was right side up and swooped down, this time startled as Sirius blew right in front of him, battering several Bludgers away from his friend.  
Belby, along with Black the only Beaters left, took a Bludger straight between the eyes and plummeted, only for the Chasers and Keeper he'd been trying to protect to as one grab the broom and hefty Belby himself between them. One second year girl, glowing as she struggled to help lower the Beater safely to the ground, felt she had done quite well, her tangled ringlets bouncing around her face.  
As for the other Bludgers, they had occupied themselves elsewhere. Four dropped at alternate times, like the mallets of continually pounded piano keys, thundering into the bleachers, crushing the metal. Trying not to reveal themselves, Remus and Lily tried, from their point crouched beneath it, to deflect them, having already stopped Peter from doing so after the Bludger dove straight for them after his spell. Some dropped between the spaces in the bleachers to smash into the grass, heading straight back up as if bounced. Hearing a whoop from above them, they heard loud cracks as Sirius Black hit several away. One, beneath the bleachers, he had missed.  
The hum of a buzzing Bludger drew the three observers standing beneath the Bludgers to stare, turning to find it zooming straight for their heads. Peter ducked. Remus dove, and, rather heroically, attempted to pull Evans down with him, but she would have nothing of it. Raising her wand straight out and not even blinking, her robe's hood falling down to allow her red hair to half tumble out, she called clearly, "Olethros!"  
The Bludger exploded, mere inches from her wand, shattering everywhere.  
The two boys, on the ground, gaped at her.  
She looked pleased, her green eyes flashing in delight.  
"How did- what-" Peter tried.  
"Where did you learn that?" Remus exclaimed, grey eyes wide.  
Lily Evans smiled, some of her red hair still tucked under her hood, which pushed it into a frame around her heart-shaped face. "A Greek destruction charm used in the Byzantine Empire in the eleventh century. I started my report early, and I wasn't quite sure if that would work. Well, I know now," she practically chirupped, face glowing. "Remind me to thank Black for that, I never thought I'd be able to use the Restricted Section. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to see how my friend did." She seemed almost to skip as she headed off.  
"I think I understand what James sees in her," said Remus, grey eyes wide as she walked away.  
"Personally, I still think she's scary," Peter said, as both used their hands to push themselves off the ground.  
"Oh, that she is. That she definitely, definitely is."  
Lily, circling the bleachers, headed directly out into the field, where Alex Bell dropped a Quaffle he'd picked up at the sight of her. "What are you doing here?" he demanded with complete bewilderment and a note of suspicion.  
"Oh, relax," Sirius called from above, swooping down. He'd grabbed the bindings at some point, snatching them off the ground, for he dropped five tied, jumping Bludgers at the captain's feet. He swung himself off, grabbing the handle of the broom, and pulling it down a good few feet before he was supposed to. He twirled his Beater club playfully. "She's a Gryffindor, Bell. A mighty annoying one, I'll grant you, but a Gryffindor."  
Jenny, who was helping Celia Knight and a few others struggle with Belby, smiled absently at Lily as her friend moved up to walk alongside them, watching as the girls and one guy attempted to set him gently down.  
"Did you make the team or not?" Lily asked impatiently, shifting from foot to foot.  
Philips helped heft the large fourth year to the ground. "Urgh... how should I know? They don't just tell you immediatly."  
"I don't see why not!" Sirius insisted, swinging his club wildly. Alex, eyeing him warily, grabbed it from him. Sirus gave him a look. "I mean, c'mon, I'm the only one conscious."  
"We really should do something about that," said Alex quickly, remembering that around the field were a good number of potential players knocked out.  
"Sent MacDougal for Pomfrey," Knight informed him swiftly. "Er, Alex, I'd also advise you get the remaining wannabe Seekers away from Potter, they're mobbing him."  
"No, they're worshipping him," Sirius corrected, gesturing to where the crowd of wannabe Seekers (the conscious ones, anyways), even some seventh years, the largest group by far, were clustered around his friend, admiration shining in their eyes. They seemed to be demanding an explanation for how he'd been able to catch it upside-down, and James, thrilled, was gesturing wildly, all too happy to comply. A third year girl was insisting on his autograph, sure it would one day be worth something.  
Alex looked relieved. "Good, I was a bit worried some of them would be bitter when... I shouldn't have said that."  
Lily tutted impatiently, throwing her arms up. "We all know James is in! Now tell us who else made it!"  
Alex looked unnerved. "Er- well- I'm not supposed to- but- you're the only one conscious?" he asked Black.  
Sirius pointed. "Well, that bloke over there seems to be stirring, but he was the first one out."  
"And you gathered all the Bludgers?" Alex asked skeptically.  
Sirius counted the struggling black balls on the ground, then looked sour. "Five out of six."  
Remus, Peter behind him, who'd surreptiously headed onto the field, stepped behind Sirius to quietly say, "Oh, I don't think you'll be finding that one." Peter proceeded to drop shards of iron at Bell's feet.  
Alex groaned. "Another ball lost from that practice set," he groaned, then jerked upright, looking at Knight. "That Bludger wasn't from the good set, was it?"  
Knight glanced at the straining, bound Bludgers, recognizing their makes. "No," she lied.  
Belby, a large bump developing, bright red against his black skin, strained to sit up with a moan.  
"Oh, he did very well," Sirius added, having kept a close eye on his competitors. "Almost half as good as me."  
Alex pointed at Belby. "You're on the team."  
Belby, half-conscious, grinned slightly, revealing his white teeth. Somewhat miraculously, the Bludger hadn't knocked any out. "Swell," he slurred, "who else?"  
"Black, Potter-" Alex began, but Belby moaned, clutching his head, murmuring a curse and slipped mercifully back to unconsciousness, much less peaceful looking now that he knew the identity of two of his teammates.  
"Oh. Good!" said Sirius vigorously. "Can I have my very nice magically enhanced bat back?"  
Alex gave him a wary look. "No. For you, never, ever on the ground."  
Sirius, sourly, stuck out his tongue. "I should tell James, he'll be ecstatic!" he said, laughing and running off in the direction of the 'mob'.  
"And the Chaser?" Lily said impatiently, hands on her hips.  
Jenny nudged her. "Lily..." she tried, in a knock-it-off tone.  
"Did you even try out?" Bell demanded, completely bewildered by the insistent red-head in front of him.  
"Of course not, it's a silly sport," Lily scoffed, then realizing she was speaking to a devoted captain of that silly sport.  
Bell ignored it, after a moment of intense deliberation, turning to Knight. "Celia?"  
"Oh, don't ask me these things right away," she said, annoyed, as she looked at the Chasers surrounding her. She sighed, counting on her fingers who'd scored the most goals, then trying to decide who'd paid the most attention and the like. She pointed. "Her."  
"The redhead?" said Bell, with some measure of confusion and horror.  
Celia smiled in disbelief. "No, Alexander, the girl next to her."  
"Jenny Philips," Lily supplied.  
"Me?" Jenny squeaked. "Oh! Yay."  
The new Madam Pomfry, no longer in robes of lime green but of white, with a little hat with a red symbol on it, hustled over, looking awestruck and horrified by the number of unconscious children.  
"Oh, shizza," said Bell desperately, looking about for an escape route.  
And that was the definite, penultimate end of a long tradition of unsupervised tryouts with mass competitors. From then on, as the Slytherins would find the next day, Madam Hooch had to be present and potential players tryout individually.  
It went unnoticed by the Marauders that fifth year Gryffindor Kora Jansen, one of the first potential Seekers to fall, had not awakened after she'd been knocked out, for no reason associated with her injury. Or that McGonagall had mentioned to Sirius Black two students unconscious, Hufflepuff second year Elaine, who had fainted, and one Ravenclaw first year who had failed to awaken despite several explosions caused by the Prewett boys the same morning that the Slytherins had awoken in the Great Hall. Between getting hold of _Innura Animus Magike_ (Madam Pince became so annoyed with attempting to handle permissions from a ghost, delivered by a cackling poltergeist, that she'd commissioned the Grey Lady to handle all such requests), Quidditch practice for Sirius and James, and homework (which Remus and Peter did, anyways), the Marauders were far too busy to listen to gossip, or in Remus' case, too tired, or Peter's, too oblivious.  
The full moon of the third week of September came and passed. The other three Maruders followed in the Invisibility Cloak in the morning when Remus was brought down to the Whomping Willow by a rather nervous Madam Pomfry, missed him desperately all day, and found themselves quite unable to sleep all that night. Able to hear Moony's mournful cries, which they listened to Philips dramatically explain to the first years as the cries of the dreadful ghosts of the Shrieking Shack ("Ooh, do they eat people?", "Er, sure, Davy", "Wow, can I go there?"). Nick, who'd heard the same tale being related directly from Dumbledore, contributed by swooping through the wall and complaining it must be a dreadfully rough crowd, to make such a racket, and that he'd certainly never go there. James, miserable about being unable to do anything yet, got a small chuckle out of that, while Sirius sulked ("Can't believe Philips knew before we did. That's favoritism, that is. Just 'cause she's the headmaster's niece or something doesn't mean she should be privy to this stuff,"), and Peter complained he'd completely bought her story last year. When the cries grew particularly bad, Potter and Black, grimly, began pouring over _Innura Animus Magike_, compiling a list of every step they would need to take, which to their dismay was terribly long. This, and the instructions for each, was terribly neccessary, since Madam Pince intended to be very strict on books checked out for this report, reportedly planning to sic Filch on offenders (already, the man had quite a reputation, what with screams from the dungeon, and Stebbins swearing up and down that the man had broken his arm- he'd actually fallen down the stairs). They presented it proudly the next afternoon, when they returned from their classes. Remus, terribly tired looking, with scratches all over, even on his face, and a nasty bruise on his side, had gotten the day after the full moon off as well (which contributed to the story that this time, he was sick himself, rather than the usual of visiting his ill mother, which didn't work half so well if the moon didn't fall on a weekend).  
Sirius bounced on the edge of Remus' bed as James unfolded the scroll they'd compiled, copied in Peter's tidy hand, who stood by the nightstand, looking at Remus with deep concern. He held it up, but as it unrolled, the bottom still reached the floor. Moony, looking tired, suddenly looked even more disheartened.  
"I write big," Peter added hastily.  
"It averagely takes seven years," Remus said dully, "and by then we'd be out of school."  
"Took Merlin two, Druidess Cliodna four, and Circe one, and I figure we're smarter than all them," Sirius argued.  
Remus' mouth twitched into a smile. "Look, I really appreciate this, but perhaps we're best to forget it."  
"What, you mad? After all this studying?" James yelped, eyes tired behind his glasses. "You've gone bonkers. Look, Rem, I swear we'll have it done by sixth year, if not sooner. Can you hold out?"  
"Of course I can," Remus said indignantly. "I'm perfectly capable of handling my cond-"  
Sirius made a scoffing sound. "Yeah, yeah, we all know, Rem, you wouldn't be in Gryffindor if you weren't brave. It'll be worth it, anyways. Look," he said, tossing Remus the ancient book, bound in brown sheepskin leather and words inked onto vellum. Bouncing off the bed, he snatched the list from James. "A lot of this is preparation, which I think we should skip-"  
James choked, grabbing the book back. He flipped dramatically through the pages, holding it up. "Example of skipping the preparation!" The pictures were of a writhing fish-man, half-way transformed, unable to go forwards or back, choking on both water and land with a terrible expression of horrible pain.  
"Okay, no skipping. Rushing!" In response, James began to flip for an example of rushing. Sirius stopped him. "Alright, alright. But there's four of us, we can split up the work." James, frowning at him, tried to tug the scroll away; Sirius held it out of reach and James began to lunge for it.  
"Hand me the list," Remus ordered in a sharp 'adult' voice. Stopping their struggle, both timidly complied. Peter chuckled slightly, causing both Quidditch players to shoot him angry looks. The werewolf, propped up against several pillows, studied it with a frown. "Hmm... the transformation requires a series of complex charms and the draught of an even more elaborate potion. Whoa- the list for highly, highly recommended simpler transformations is even longer- things we haven't learned by a long shot, some things not even included in the Hogwarts curiculuum, unless I mistake my guess..."  
"Yeah," Sirius chimed in, "plus look at all the spells we'll have to learn in order to do those charms and stuff. But look, we've prioritzed it with Magic Markers! Though, I'm not quite sure why Evans had them, or why they're called magic since they don't actually do anything, except make pretty colors- What?"  
"Red is highest priority," James told Remus. "Oh, and we're hiring the Prewett brothers."  
"What? Why?" Remus demanded.  
"Because we're not thieves," began Peter nobly.  
"And they've agreed to, er, borrow, some of the books we need that people have checked out from the Restricted Section, so we can copy them. Some people, like Evans, have them hidden very well," James continued.  
"Yeah, we tried," Sirius added, rolling his eyes at the failure of that attempt of the previous night.  
"No questions asked," Peter remarked happily.  
"All we have to do in return is warn them when we next intend to prank the school," James said.  
Sirius looked abashed. "Oh, and, er, I have to help Fabian with Andromeda- and no, I am not giving details," he said threateningly.  
"Better off not asking," James remarked, wincing. "Slightly embarassing, but the gist of it is that Andromeda dumped him again- which meant he lost money to Gideon, since Fabian was convinced it'd be his turn to dump her again-"  
"I said no details," Sirius threatened.  
"He has to sing," Peter said smugly, chortly.  
Sirius looked indignant. "No, Fabian's singing! I'm just-" He closed his mouth abruptly.  
Peter and James snickered.  
"What?" Remus asked, interested.  
Sirius' face was turning red, James cracking up.  
"He plays the lute," Peter told him, between hysterics.  
Remus began to chuckle. "Does he play well?"  
Sirius sniffed. "I'll have you know I'm excellent. It's the dumbest thing in the world, though- Mother's been making me take it since I was five. There's a place on Achers Street where they give lessons,- and, well, Bellatrix plays the lyre!"  
James snorted, doubling over onto Peter's shoulder.  
Face aflame, Sirius pointed out several spots. "So, we should get these charms here and definitely the ability to make a few potions- we'll have to do a lot of copying, though. Maybe we'll find a spell that can do it for us," he said hopefully. "But we'll probably have to copy spells by hand- which means pulling a few all-nighters for the next few weeks-"  
"But not in the days leading up to our first Quidditch match!" James added somewhat hysterically.  
"Right," Sirius acknowleged curtly, "and, as much as I am loathe to admit it, means we should get our reports for Binns done quick, 'cause they're due that same week, and Bell will have gone psycho-captain by that point."  
James jerked, shuddering. "No more drills, please, no more drills!"  
Peter was clearly still mulling over something. "Does she play the lyre well?"he interrupted.  
Sirius cringed. "Better than Narcissa plays the panpipe. Now, I think we should tackle one thing a month, two during a slow month, and we must keep up our pranks to retain our Marauder-dom."  
"We're going to be awful busy," James groaned.  
"Do you wanna give up Quidditch?" Sirius suggested.  
"No!"  
"Helping Moony?"  
"Never!"  
"Pranks?"  
"No way!"  
"Then stuff it up and take it like a man," Sirius pronounced dramatically.  
"Hey!"  
"What should we do this month, then?" Remus interrupted.  
"We got the book. The month's ending, we should set up for October," James decided swiftly.  
"We'll take two in February, that should allieve the boredom and give us ten major preparative steps-"  
"Plus, we'll have to start the big potion," Peter reminded.  
"That, and the major spell- very complex," said Sirius with a solemn nod. He leaned next to Remus, allowing them both to pour over the lengthy parchment scroll. "What d'you think? What first?"  
The sandy haired boy examined it with an inquiring expression that made him look far older than his years, an adult expression ill-suited on his boyish face, rather greyish at the moment from the strain of his recent transformation. He tapped his fingers against one line. "Here. We'll have to manage this. We've learned how to turn inanimate objects into animals and vice versa, but we have to be able to manage something human-sized by the end of October in order to do some of this stuff."  
James winced. "Suppose that'll fall on my head. You mean like McGonagall turning her desk into a pig first day of Transfiguration?"  
"Pretty much," Remus said, frowning as he examined this carefully noted item (his friends had picked out all the neccessary stuff, but hadn't actually read it).  
"By the end of October?" James said in a smaller voice. He swallowed, standing straighter. "'Course, I can do it-"  
"Course you can," Sirius said briskly, "but you shouldn't have to. I'll work on this, show you what I figure out. It was my turn last time, and Peter helped, so now it's your turn."  
"What?" James asked, confused, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  
Sirius sighed. "Halloween prank, mate! It'll have to be excellent."  
Their leader removed his glasses, hazel eyes twinkling. He rubbed them vigorously, cleaning them with the edge of his robe before he slipped them back on. "I saw just the thing while reading a book last week..."

"Rain," grumbled Sirius a few weeks later, clutching his broomstick in his right hand as they trotted off the field. "I hate rain."  
Their boots squashed in the thick mud of the stadium, making soft squishing sounds and soaking its cold dampness into every fiber of their clothes. Mud was sent splattering onto the edges of their red robes.  
James, blinded by the rain in his glasses, looked miserable. "The game is November 1st- that's two weeks away!- and I still can't catch well in the rain- which it's supposed to for certain that day! A really bad storm, too, if Dumbledore's warning us in advance- it better not be canceled. What can I do? I'm thinking of sending away for goggles, but they'll never get here in time," he groaned, adding, "that's what the professionals wear, y'know, goggles in the rain, 'cept they cost heaps of Galleons which nearly gave my father a heart attack when I asked for them in Quidditch Quality Supplies.'  
"Remus'll come up with something," Sirius consoled.  
Philips, feet sinking in the mud, raced after them. "James! Oy!"  
He turned swiftly, just in time to catch her as she skidded across the mud, nearly falling, before she straightened and regained her breath. "James, I saw you were having trouble today-"  
"No kidding," Sirius added blithely.  
Philips shot him a look. "James, Lily knows a spell. She's done it before, over the summer, to keep a book dry."  
"Fat lot of good that does me," he considered, "unless," he said, brightening, "you could get her to tell you and you could do it!"  
She stared at him. "Have you seen me in Charms?"  
They both winced. "Could she tell you and you could tell Remus?" James suggested.  
"I always mangle the pronunciation. I'm sure you remember what happen when I tried to levita-"  
"We remember," they chorused hastily.  
"If you beg her," Jenny brought up hesitantly, "or, y'know, agreed to stop pranking people for-"  
"Never," they said together, locking their respective brooms, a Cleansweep Five and a Comet 220 together like swords displayed as an honor guard.  
She rolled her eyes. "Then I suppose it's up to me to ask her."  
They lowered their brooms, watching her suspiciously. "You'd do that?" James asked incredulously.  
"I do want to win," she told him with a sigh, "and it's not as if I hate you."  
"You don't?" Sirius said, startled, James joining him with a "Why?"  
"Good question," she said, adjusting her soaking curls and blinking through the rain. "Oh, there's Gideon."  
"What?" they said together, swiveling.  
"Oh, not tonight," said Sirius, rubbing his tired eyes with a faint moan. He'd been working on mastering that stupid spell, borrowing sixth and seventh years Transfiguration books, every night for the past three weeks, not to mention Quidditch practice. But as they left the pitch, there could be seen several figures heading towards them, the two in front immediatly recognizable as the Prewett boys.  
Gideon trotted over to Jenny, ruffling her hair and laughing, despite the fact that he looked awfully miserable. Fabian cornered Sirius. "The books are on your bed, and your friend Lupin's already going over them. And don't think it was easy getting them, either- you should have seen the wards Snape has on his stuff. Now, we had a deal, and I'm calling it in."  
Sirius shuddered. "But I broke my lute over the summer- and please, as if I'd ever bring it to-" He stopped short, staring at horror at the pear-shaped, guitar-like object Fabian held out to him triumphantly. Defeated, he took it slowly.  
"Oh, I am so coming," James cackled. "Remus and Peter'll cry that they missed this, I'll have to fill them in on everything."  
Fabian looked at him sternly. "If you're coming, then you're singing."  
James shrugged. "Worth it." Sirius wacked him on the head with the lute, hoping it would break. It did not.  
"Who're the others?" Jenny asked Gideon, as the two turned back towards the two Maruaders and one thief.  
"Fletcher- he plays the harp quite beautifully, actually, and we managed to find one of the hand-held ones, whatcha call 'ems," Fabian answered enthusiastically for his brother, gesturing, "that's Shacklebolt, captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team- he owes us money for a bet on the Cup last year, this'll call it even and he can sing, Murphey there's Muggle- born and takes guitar- Beater for our team, y'know, Longbottom's helping us sing 'cause Gideon begged him, same for Johnson, and Belby- well, we had to bribe Belby, and then-"  
"There's me," said Alex Bell unhappily from behind them, trotting out of the pitch.  
"Also owes us money," Fabian explained, "betting for his team last year- not smart, and that there's Amos Diggory, seventh year Hufflepuff, Chaser- sings like a nightengale," Fabian here dodged an object aimed at his head, "and then, obviously, y'know Evans is along-"  
"Why?!" James and Sirius demanded, horrified.  
The redhead, appearing from around one of the tall fellows (apparently Shacklebolt), made an equally sour face at the boys as she joined her friend. "Well, we wrote the song," Philips explained, and at their looks explained, "Sorta, anyway, I helped Gideon write the music- well, mostly I just sat there and told him what hurt my ears and what didn't- and Lily listened to all the stuff Fabian wanted to say and just made it rhyme. "  
Sirius shuddered. "Worse," he moaned.

Fabian frowned. "Now, really, I've gone what seems like ages with Andy not speaking to me- the least you could do is play your small part in winning her back without complaining. Gideon, pass out the sheet music."  
Gideon shuddered, much more heavily than Sirius had. "Singing," he said tensely, with a negative tone.  
Sirius snatched his music.  
"Can you play it?" Fabian asked nervously, hovering about, golden hair glinting in the light.  
"No?" Sirius tried, then gave up at the look Fab gave him. "Yes, of course, it's simple," he said angrily. "If Bella shows up with her lyre..." he said threateningly, shaking a fist.  
Fabian looked a bit worried. "I didn't know she played! If I'd known she'd played-"  
"Calm down!" roared Gideon, his dusky blond hair flying about his lightly freckled face, his dimples not apparent at the moment. "Can we get a move on? The sooner this is over with, the better!"  
They trooped, mostly miserably, with the extremely notable exceptions of James and Fabian, to a designated spot, visible from the window of the Ravenclaw sixth year girls' window. The lake was in the background, the moon, just beginning to wax, a splendid crescent, only a week into the new moon. The rain still poured down, however, casting far reaching ripples across the lake. Sirius seriously considered hurling himself into it, but considering Fabian's tendency to blow things up when angry, decided to keep him in his more usual placid, if exuberant, mood. Gideon looked of equal temperment.  
Fabian looked at the group, reading the words by the Lumos spell. He grinned, whispered, "Incendio," and candles all about them in a circle lit up. Everyone except Gideon, who'd spent ages setting them up, jumped.  
"Oh, Slytherin," moaned Sirius, "it's shaped in a heart."  
James choked, but kept a careful eye on Lily to see what she thought of this whole set-up, for future reference. She scowled at him, but couldn't keep a smile off her face. He was disturbed to find his cheeks going pink (thank Godric it was dark), at the sight of her rosebud mouth forming a smile in (somewhat) his direction (unintentionally, but hey, he'd take it). Philips, meanwhile, had her head buried in her friend's sleeve trying not to laugh.  
"Oh, Merlin, if I get suspended from the Quidditch team for this," Alex said jumpily, while still trying to memorize the music. Then, to his absolute horror, he recalled Celia Knight, a Gryffindor, mentioning casually she'd be studying with Andromeda and some friends from Ravenclaw tonight for a practice N.E.W.T. in Charms tommorow, and that she would have returned by now. He hit himself on the head and vowed never to gamble again.  
Amos Diggory looked equally mortified, considering one of the occupants of the dormitory was the very lovely Moira O'Conner, who he'd taken to the Valentine's Day Ball last year but which nothing had ever come of.  
Shacklebolt was already trying to block this from his memory, Belby looked like he'd swallowed poison, Johnson and Longbottom remained unreadable and thankful they were younger and barely knew the girls of this dormitory, and Murphey simply looked tired, his eyes flickering closed. Gideon looked like he was going to cry, and not from joy.  
"Ready?" said Fabian nervously. He was getting older now, his fights with Andromeda becoming more serious and less regular, and he really wanted this to go well. He levitated a prepared handful of pebbles, aiming them with his wand directly at the right window. There was a pause, a few more lights came on, and several faces peeked through the blinds, only to open them at raise the window, gaping, at the sight below. To several of the boys' mortification, it was not only the Ravenclaw girls, but a larger, mixed group of the sixth year girls.  
"Loudly, and sweetly," the elder Prewett hissed quickly."One, two, three, go!"  
Shuffling and abashed, the group began to sing, James bellowing loudly. Murphey strummed excellently, Fletcher (19, held back twice, and possibly drunk) amazed all by suddenly producing the most beautiful noises with his harp, and Sirius began to pluck out sweet sounds, causing his fellow year-mates to give him glances of shock and his face to turn bright red.  
"Oh, lovely lady in the window above," they sang, Shacklebolt, Longbottom, and Belby (who'd been selected as the ones with the deepest voices) repeating, "Oh, lovely lady, lovely lady" several times. It had rather the tune of a poor rock song, perhaps somewhat in imitation the Smashed Cauldrons, a leading band of the day.  
The girls above, Andromeda in the center, somewhere between thrilled and mortified as her dark hair fell across her face and she clutched her hands to her cheeks, dissolved into giggles. Several of the guys winced, but continued.  
"I am here to profess my love," they chorused, somewhat sheepishly, James and Fabian, quite possibly the worst singers of the group, absolutely bellowing it. Sirius, trying to keep up with the tune, added a needed doo- doo-doo after the line, followed by the trio of Shacklebolt, Belby, and Longbottom (really a duo, Belby refused to sing by now and was being threatened by Gideon, whispering under his breath), calling, "Oooo, oh my love, my dear sweet love."  
Lily and Jenny, obviously not singing, were standing behind Gideon, relying on each other to stand upright and desperately covering their mouths to keep from laughing. The younger Prewett, indignant, tried to step on Jenny's foot while singing, instead merely tripping.  
"What can I do to be worthy of you-oo-oo?"  
"How can I prove that my love is tru-u-ue?"  
Murphey was really becoming excited, jumping around and showing off as he strummed the guitar. Diggory actually could sing quite well, though his face was beet red, he began to sing louder. Johnson was also getting into it, trying to encourage his friends to do the same, but most of the others kept their eyes fixedly on the ground. Gideon, who could actually slightly sing better than his brother, muttered, "To hell with it," and began to actually try to enjoy himself.  
"Darlin', I can change if I must, Whatever it takes to win back your tru-ust," they sang. There was a slight musical break here, and Murphey, head shaking wildly, though awful tired from a late night Astronomy session, raised his hand in a circle and strummed several loud notes, before going into a wild fenzy of playing. Fabian looked thrilled, glad he'd found an excellent player, even if he was a bit uncertain on how the instrument was played without magic.  
Doom- doom-doom-du-um-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-du-dum- errrrr. Suddenly there was a strange noise as Murphey's fingers slipped up, his eyes, tiredly, having momentarily closed. There was a slight pause, and Murphey tumbled over, passed out.  
"Keep singing," Fabian hissed, and Sirius began to strum even more loudly, Andromeda, her blue eyes twinkling through her dark brown hair shading her face, recognizing her cousin, who she hadn't been able to see in the darkness. Several girls from a different dormitory, probably the fifth years, had come in to watch as well, but Celia, who was present, practically falling out the window with laughter, her page cut swinging, was next to the girl in question, as was Andromeda's dorm mate Moira, who seemed to be dancing with a few of the younger girls.  
The tune altered slightly, as it was meant to (they hoped). "I may be a scoundrel, I may be a foo-ool," the group sang ("ohh, I may be a fool")  
"But you are my light, my precious jew-uhl," it continued, James and Sirius trying not to gag. ("My light, my jewel," sang the others, looking with concern at Murphey, who seemed to have over-exerted himself)  
"I know mistakes have taken their toll," the tune going softer and slightly higher, "But you are the fire within my soul." ("Within my so- oul") James fell to the grass, unable to continue and burying his face in his Quidditch robes so as not to chortle.  
"Ah, lovely lady, you know I love you, I do," ("Oh, yes, I do"), James recovered, finding his voice, "And that without you my life is blue" ("Oh, yes, it's blue").  
Sirius continued to twang, but following the music, which sat on the ground with his lit wand lighting it, began to play more softly, while Mundungus, on his harp, hiccupping, played more loudly, the soft cords filling the night air.  
Fabian, eyes looking up to the window, continued, while most of the others, except Gideon and James, fell off, which led to this part being more spoken than song, due to the oldest Prewett having a sore throat by now, "Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? I await your answer, lovely la-a-ad-y-"  
Bellowing laughter from behind them caused the group to trail off. Hagrid was standing there, chuckling deeply, and light from the castle indicated teachers were heading after them.  
"Run!" bellowed Gideon.  
Frank Longbottom looked shocked. "You mean, you don't have permission to be he-" Gideon and Belby grabbed Murphey, one on each arm, and began to pull him away. Johnson, who'd been banging rhythmically on a tree, raced after them, tugging Frank, who wanted to go speak with the teachers, along, the two young girls following.  
Sirius, still playing, began to inch away, Mundungus continued on his harp, oblivious. James began to slip in the opposite direction also. Bell, Shacklebolt, and Diggory began to edge around the lake.  
Fabian, still nervous because Andromeda had told him it was really over this time, cupped his hands over his mouth, calling, "So, am I forgiven?"  
Andy, laughing, consulted with her friends. Eyes twinkling, she yelled back, "Pretty much, but I'm not letting you off the hook that easy!"  
Fabian beamed, his dimples showing. "Excellent! How about one more round-" he said, turning, puzzled when he found only Mundungus behind him. Sirius' lute music could be heard drifting into the distance, the brooms of the Quidditch players gone, though they'd left the music behind (except James, keeping it 'for posterity'). Rain continued to pour down on his head, though the candles still burned. He glanced toward the approaching teachers, then down at himself. There was nowhere to really run- except...  
"Well, I can't get more wet than I am already," he mumbled, and robes and all, sprinted, splashed through shallow water, and dove into the lake.  
The teachers, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout, hustling to arrive, found only burning candles, sheets of music, Mundungus playing the harp in the center of it all, and laughing girls looking down, Hagrid, off to the side, failing to point out the bubbles rising from the lake.

A week and a few days later, James and Remus woke up early for their foraging expedition for their Halloween prank. Covered by the Invisibility Cloak, which had been concealing the books taken from the Prewetts (their reports, promptly turned in a few days earlier, had been swiftly accompanied by the return of the nearly entirely copied _Innura Animus Magike_, while frantically, at least fifteen students made up excuses for Madam Pince, who had never been so horrified in her life and was thoroughly blaming Professor Binns- perhaps outside reading assignments would not become common, after all- he was no longer allowed to give access to the Restricted Section. After a few attempts at copying spells, they finally decided just to keep the books as long as they needed them, hoping any Thief's Curses or Tracking Spells placed on them by Pince had been removed by their accomplices), they crept to the forest. Remus was tired, even without Quidditch practice, since the full moon was coming around again, and he'd been pouring over books, often in Old English, like _Beastes and Powres_, _Simple Spelles of Merlynnus_, _Potio Mortis_, _Moste Potente Potions_, and _Changes of Forme_. James, practically hyperactive due to increasing practices (some were also in the weekend mornings now) and on nights he had off, spying with Sirius on the Slytherin team and reporting back to Bell, was eager to get this prank, and its accompaniment, prepared, in order to focus entirely on Quidditch. So it was carefully, and invisibly, that they snuck towards Kettleburn's "office", more similar to a stable, really, where he kept all his creatures. Dragon hide gloves firmly on, they reached carefully through the opening of a nest, collecting recently discarded stings in great bundles, grinning wickedly at each other.  
The end of the third week of October, on a Friday, Remus went 'to visit his dreadfully ill mother', expecting to return over the weekend. James grabbed Sirius and Peter, dragging them to an empty classroom under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, which shone sleekly until they slipped it on.  
James pointed at Flitwick's large desk and chair with a booster seat. "Desk. Change it," he barked, Moony's shrieks still ringing in his ears.  
Sirius gulped, drawing his wand. He had been practicing, but... He shook that thought off and stood up straighter. "It's simple enough," he announced. "Er, change it to what?"  
Peter thought quickly, suggesting something of more or less the same size, "A horse?"  
Sirus winced, then began to concentrate. Transfiguration was a very intense subject, but he'd never had any trouble turning matches into needles or rabbits into slippers. He could do this. Murmuring quietly, he raised his wand, eyes shut, which led Peter and James to leap out of the way. There was a loud bang, and he opened his eyes, then letting out a sigh of disappointment. The horse was there, all right, where the desk had been, but the desk was simply now horse-shaped wood. He turned, with disappointment, only to turn back at a 'neigh'. The horse was, yes, shaped out of wood, but also, to some level, alive, as it stood up and reared.  
"Good!" James said enthusiastically, waving his wand and glasses bobbing. "Now, turn it back, show me how to do it, and I'll have a go."  
Sirius furrowed his brow. "Turn it- back?"  
Eventually, James managed to fully turn it into a real, live, brown horse (he was, after all, the best Transfiguration pupil McGonagall would ever have), but it turned out the book offered no advice to turn it back that they could find. They had to wait until the next morning, when Flitwick (who they had first class that day, thankfully) called in McGonagall to turn it back, watching her and trying again the next night with Moony to supervise and find all the answers in one book or another. Still, the sight of the horse trampling through Flitwick's office, smashing desks and crashing its hooves into doors, was one that would not be forgotten by them (not to mention they'd constantly be reminded by the imprint of hoof marks on the door). It was assumed sixth years were to blame, since that was the sort of spell they were covering this year, but McGonagall suddenly did step up the course load faced by the Marauders, so they were never quite sure whether or not she suspected.  
From there, it was only a few short days to Halloween, and as promised, in warning, they slipped a note to the Prewetts, saying cryptically to hide their clothes and watch what they eat.  
Early the previous night, Remus and James slipped down to the kitchen, where house elves, to whom they were beloved, greeted them fondly. To their surprise, they found Henson there as well, barely managing to stuff the Invisibility Cloak in a cabinet in time. She was crying and cooking pastries (she really was more of a culinary witch than a Potions expert, but she needed this job, she admitted), and spent ages moaning about the Ravenclaws correcting her and the cruelty of the patronizing Slytherins. She couldn't understand what the fascination was with pure-blood, she sobbed, glad for a listening ear, as it had caused her trouble finding a job elsewhere, being Muggle-born. Then she started saying something that didn't make sense to the boys, about a lot of kids not waking up (a well deserved rest, in their opinion) and how she was trying so hard to make the antidote (for what?) but really didn't have the skills. Basically, they just smiled and nodded and ate pastries, saving some for Sirius, Remus taking the opportunity to slip the stings collected a week ago in a specific cooking delicacy.  
Halloween morning began on an eventful note, as all houses of the school opened their drawers and began to pull on their robes. While the Gryffindors noticed nothing, it created much horror among the other houses, particularly the Slytherins. It was a very simple charm that Remus had performed, as most color spells were, and would last only the length of the day, a spell that they blessed the Invisibility Cloak for getting them in to do. All students found their ties in the gold and red colors of Gryffindors, as were their emblems, though their own house names and animals still were placed there.  
The Prewetts walked calmly about in their own colors, watching as strict Vonn Donn scolded his students for not being in proper dress, as most Slytherins had forsaken tie and grabbed plain black robes, refusing to bear Gryffindor colors. Most Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs took it in good humor, however. McGonagall, knowing instantly who was responsible, gave the Marauders an immediate week of detention, carefully scheduled around Quidditch, and was forced to take 20 points from her own house. James was unconcerned. He'd earn many times that back in the game the next day, which was Saturday.  
They had Charms today, during which they avoided pulling pranks due to Flitwick's pitiful, pleading looks in their direction and polished new desk, then Herbology, during which, due to a 'spilled' bottle of magical fertilizer, several plants began to grow out of control, (10 points from Gryffindor), then Transfiguration, where under McGonagall's severe eye, they acted like charming young children.  
It was at the feast that night when their major prank began. James rapidly warned the Gryffindor Quidditch team, just in case any of them were allergic and it caused any problems. Philips was just barely stopped from warning Evans, since that was a crucial part of this plan.  
The pumpkin pie looked absolutely delicious, but James and company, who had seated themselves directly across from Lily to her disbelief, stared at her fixedly and silently throughout the feast until dessert appeared. When she reached for the some dessert, James' hand darted out and grabbed hers. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned.  
Her green eyes narrowed. "What did you do, Potter?", as she detached her hand from his grip with some effort.  
"Not telling, but believe us, we did something to something," he said cryptically, hazel eyes more grey at the moment behind his glasses.  
She tossed her red hair indignantly, wondering where Jenny had gone and spotting her over by the Ravenclaw table, talking with Gideon Prewett. "If you think, Potter, for one minute, that I'll skip dessert at the Halloween feast- possibly the best of the year- for your sake, then you must be mad." She calmly took a sip of butterbeer, which, quite unfairly in the Marauders' opinions, she was allowed because she simply couldn't stand pumpkin juice (she was allergic to pumpkin, which had caused something of a disaster last year as she'd been quite unaware of that fact).  
"Believe us, one of the desserts at this table will make you regret eating it," Sirius said darkly, eyes flashing.  
Lily paused, glaring at them suspiciously. "Why are you telling me this?"  
"It'll happen to everyone- except you, giving you the chance to warn others, as well. If," Remus began matter-of-factly, "you perform the spell that will allow James to see in the rain." He gestured to the lightning and thunderclouds visibly cracking in the ceiling. "As you can see, it's certain to storm. And you don't want Slytherin to win the game tommorow, do you? Rosier's an awful good Seeker, from what we've seen, plus he's got Quidditch goggles, and their Chasers-"  
"Even Snivellus," said Sirius with venom, "are excellent. Though their Beaters can't hold a candle to me."  
Lily, at their arrogance, gave him a withering look. "And I suppose you want me to do something about it?"  
"Philips says you know a spell," said James passionately, "and I need a chance. If-"  
"Is it possible for Gryffindor to win if you don't catch the Snitch?" Lily asked bluntly.  
"Ye-es," said James slowly.  
"But highly unlikely," Peter added fervently.  
Lily considered her options unhappily. "You have my book," she said. They gave her looks, wondering how she knew. Gideon probably told Philips, who told her, James figured, or she just figured it out- a scarier thought. "I want it back. My fine is outra-"  
"Done," Remus said quickly. He'd gotten the information he needed out of that one.  
She pursed her lips. "Give me your glasses," she demanded of James.  
He handed them over with reluctance. "Don't break them," he warned her.  
She gave him a disgusted look at the thought. She eyed the silver frames carefully, then raised her wand. "Impervius!" she said, tapping them.  
James snatched them back and put them on slowly. "It's in the pumpkin pie," he told her with a glance at Remus. The timing was perfect. At that moment, the Billywig stings took effect, and the great number of people who'd been eating pumpkin pie- including Dumbledore- began suddenly to lift off their chairs. Some, feeling they were going too high, gripped the edge of their chairs, heading up feet first into the air, the chair rising with them. Dumbledore, rising slowly, chair still attached, continued his conversation calmly with McGonagall, on the ground, who watched in shock as Flitwick, squeaking, joined him.  
"I wouldn't have eaten pumpkin pie anyways, Potter, and you knew I wouldn't have time to warn anyone!" Evans said, furious.  
"Well, I only have your word that my glasses work," James said smugly, sitting back and crossing his arms.  
Evans' face suddenly matched her hair. "One way to find out," she said sweetly, and, raising her butterbeer, splashed the drink straight onto James' face. She swiveled on her heel and stormed away.  
James, sputtering, butterbeer dripping down his shirt, turned equally red. Sirius, calmly munching, handed him a napkin.  
"But can you see?" the Beater asked pleasantly, taking a Cauldron Cake.  
"Yes, but she threw a drink in my face!"  
"Mmm-hmmm," Sirius said dismissively, watching as Gideon Prewett, quite purposelly, took a large slice of pumpkin pie, Stebbins tried to look up the robes of some of the floating girls, and Dumbledore summoned his plate up to the ceiling, which he was bobbing against quite pleasantly.  
"Bodes well for your future, doesn't it," Peter said innocently.  
James gave him a nasty look as the butterbeer slid right off his glasses.  
"Pastry?" Remus asked him brightly, as he ate a cookie shaped like the full moon.  
Sopping with butterbeer, James took one.  
At the end of the feast, Dumbledore gestured with his wand and everyone lowered slowly to their seats, some, like Vonn Donn, who'd been miserably pacing the ceiling, furious he hadn't done that from the start. 60 points were taken from Gryffindor, since Vonn Donn confirmed with the house elves that it had been the Marauders down in the kitchens that night (the house elves feared retribution from the menacing professor, and squeakily gave up the pranksters). The next morning, a few older Gryffindor students gave them quite menacing looks as James nervously refused to eat breakfast and Sirius gobbled down everything in sight. Philips hustled about, scared out of her wits, following Celia Knight around and begging for advice.  
Stebbins raced into the Great Hall, skidding, out of breath. "A whole bunch of kids are being taken to the hospital wing!" he announced loudly, panting. "People didn't wake up this morning- including Professor Henson!"  
"What?" said Evans, setting down her Muggle mystery book and rushing over.  
Sirius, not paying attention, picked up Evans' book. "_And Then There Were None_, by Agatha Christie. What sort of Bundimun secretion is this?" he said disgustedly, tossing it back, not noticing he'd lost her page.  
"Rather morbid sounding," commented Remus, eating with his friends.  
Peter was finishing the touches on a Go Gryffindor! sign, brushing off crumbs Sirius had accidently dropped on it while passing.  
James was muttering to himself quietly, about small little Golden Snitches which absolutely had to jump into his hand. Remus arched an eyebrow at him with some concern.  
Philips sat down at their table, causing them to jump and stare. "Oh, Godric, oh, Godric, oh, Godric," she said, almost like a chant. "I can't remember the proper formation for a Woollongong Shimmy," she cried. She then looked over them. "Why are you both in your Quidditch robes already? Are we supposed to be in our robes already? Did I screw up?"  
"Chill, will you both?" Sirius demanded with mild alarm. "If you don't both calm down, I'll have to chuck you both in the lake." He straightened his red Quidditch robes and grabbed his Cleansweep Five, next to him. "And, nah, Philips, we just like wearing them- announcing to the whole school who we are."  
James, encouraged, jumped up himself. "Let's go!"

Alex Bell paced before his team in the locker room. "Gryffindor may not have won a game in seven years," he started, looking woeful, "and yes, the whole school is out there. But now I'm Captain, and we've got people who are actually good on the brooms this year-"  
"Hear, hear!" said Celia Knight happily.  
Alex cleared his throat. "What I'm basically saying is, we have to win today. This is Slytherin- the only other team with new players. If we can't beat them, we have no chance against Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. This is it, folks. If we choke, we have choked for the year. Potter? Are you going to be able to catch the Snitch in this weather?"  
Sirius took this opportunity to toss the contents of his canteen of water in James' face. His friend leaped for him, as the water jumped off his glasses.  
"Alright, that's a yes," muttered Bell. "Now, Potter, if we screw up, it's down to you to get the Snitch. Now, Belby, Black, have either of you read the _Beater's Bible_?"  
"No," they chorused.  
"Well, Slytherin has," Bell barked, "and the first rule is take out the Seeker. If we lose our Seeker, we have lost. Protect us, but your first priority is Potter. Protect him if it means _your life_."  
Belby nodded professionally; Black, shaggy hair in his face, looked mildly depressed. "So you're saying James is more important than me?"  
"Ten times more!"  
"Don't give him anymore of an ego, Bell," said Philips with a laugh, still looking rather sick to her stomach. She was clutching her Nimbus 1000, sent by her thrilled mother when it was learned she'd made the team, as if it were her lifeline.  
"Look sharp, now!" Bell insisted, straightening MacDougal's mussed robes and patting James' head, trying surreptiously to push his hair down, as they marched onto the pitch.  
Philips' eyes went wide at the sight and the tremendous thunder of noise as they entered, matching the thunder in the sky, the Prewetts leading Ravenclaw in a cheer, eager to see Slytherin smashed, and the Hufflepuffs applauding the Gryffindors. The Slytherins, however, hissed and booed, one even throwing something. Belby caught it swiftly and chucked it back with a grumble. Immediatly, heavy rain began to soak through their robes, and lightning crackled menacingly.  
Madam Hooch stepped into the middle of the field, gesturing Luther Havok, the Slytherin captain this year in place of Malfoy to shake hands with Alex Bell. Havok barely brushed his hand, giving Bell a nasty look, his mousy blonde-brown hair ill-suited to his square, intimidating face. Alex's shoulder shook with barely restrained rage.  
"Now I want a fair game, you hear?" Madam Hooch warned Luther, calling over the wind, her short dark hair sticking up and her hawk-like eyes fixated on the Slytherin captain. "On my whistle... three... two...one..."  
The crowd roared wildly as the players sped upwards, James' eye briefly catching the Snitch as it was unleashed before it melted into the crowd.  
Danielle Sweeney, the Ravenclaw seventh year who made announcements, began to commentate under McGonagall's watchful eye, but it was lost to the players in the wind. Remus, straining to hear her usually colorful words, gave up and simply watched the game.  
Lily Evans, horribly confused, began immediatly to demand what was going on, so Frank Longbottom, sitting nearby, began to yell a commentary for their benefit. He was looking worried himself; Robert Johnson didn't feel well enough to attend the game and in his nervousness, was downing Pepper Up Potions madly. "MacDougal's got the Quaffle, he's passed to Bell, who- ow, Havok's got the Quaffle, he's passing to Snape, Snape's passing to- ooh, hit by the Bludger, nice play by Black-"  
Philips, swooping ahead of Stonecraft, a Slytherin Chaser, snatched the slowly drifting Quaffle from the air, plastering herself to the broom to avoid the Bludger shot at her by the enormous Rabastan Lestrange. Goyle, the other Beater, used his own club to wack it at James, Belby stopping it just in time. Stonecraft, angered, tackled Philips from behind and started to take the Quaffle. She swiveled, aiming a punch at his nose, causing him to stop.  
"Can she do that?" Lily gasped.  
"Transylvanian Tackle, she didn't hit him- nice, she got it to MacDougal, MacDougal heading towards the goal post- I say! That's a foul!"  
MacDougal had nicely thrown it through the middle hoop, but Horem, the Keeper, had reached his arm behind and knocked it out before it passed through.  
"Foul!" Hooch called, blowing her whistle over the wind. MacDougal took the shot quickly, scoring through the left hoop.  
Gryffindor's score ticked up 10 points.  
James didn't notice, he was busy circling over head, dodging Rosier, who was swooping around as well. Rosier had on expensive Quidditch goggles, used to protect from the rain. Potter glowered, but was thankful he was able to see. He flew high, swooping around, not noticing Sirius, in desperation, actually catch a Bludger which would have hit James in the head.  
"Oof," mumbled Black, sagging slightly but still gripping the Bludger, hurling it away so he could whollop it with his club.  
He scanned the field, wetter than he had ever been in his life. Thunder surrounded him, lightning crackling nearby. Probably not the safest conditions to play in.  
Philips sped by, trying to keep pace with Bell. "What're we up?" James roared at her.  
"30- 10, and Bell's taking a foul shot for Knight!" she shouted, not realizing James had missed the stooging attempt on Celia.  
Alex was good, he scored easily on Horem. James didn't bother to cheer, he and Rosier had spotted the golden speck through the thundercloud. Both raced after it.  
Rosier slammed against him, perfectly legally, nearly knocking James off course. Angered, James slammed him back, trying to speed ahead. James, not as large, was jerked harder, he noticed that the golden glint was a sunbeam, splitting through as he was whipped to the right. He darted back down, determined not to waste time. Rosier, momentarily, thought himself triumphant, then leaped after James.  
Sirius, sighing as he saw James returning back within reach of Bludgers, nodded to Belby. Both began to circle James, battering Bludger after Bludger sent at him away and directing them at the Slytherin Chasers.  
James froze as he saw the Snitch buzzing around Havok's ears, little wings flapping. He didn't even gulp at the size or ferocity of the fellow, just dived straight at him. Sirius, tailing him, struck the Bludger coming at James with a backhand club swing, sending it back to hit a confused Goyle in the chest.  
Belby yelled happily, then proceded to exchange shots with Lestrange, the Bludger being pelted back and forth between their bats  
Stonecraft and Snape, joining Luther in a Hawkshead Attacking Formation, gave James furious looks as he looped between them, not noticing the Snitch lurking in Luther's hair. The sallow, greasy-haired boy yelled something negative at James. He couldn't hear it over the worsening winds, which threatened to knock him off his broom.  
MacDougal had the Quaffle and they were after him, he reverse passed it to Philips, who barely caught in, not expecting it, who yelped as she realized the opposing Chasers' attention had turned to her. She threw it to Knight, the Keeper, which had never happened to Celia before, and she stared at it in shock.  
Rosier, realizing what James was doing, dived down, just as James, with a seemingly careless swerve, scooped the Snitch up in his sleeve. Triumphant, he held it up, not seeing Belby and Black together knock one last Bludger away from him. Exhausted, the Beaters slumped on their broomsticks.  
James spiraled slowly down, cupping the struggling Snitch gently and laughing. Bell, beyond happy, flew right into him as they landed, practically choking James as he enveloped him in a bear hug.  
"Argh," Black groaned, as he landed, falling right on top of Philips, who pushed him promptly back up. He clutched his chest, where he'd caught the Bludger. "We won, right?" he asked queasily.  
"Two Hundred to Twenty!" Knight shouted, scooping both second years up in a hug.  
"We won, we won, we won, we actually won!" MacDougal shouted, dancing about. Belby grinned broadly, rain dripping down his dark skin as he raised his broom in triumph. Alex looked like he was about to cry, having never won a game before despite his skill.  
Most of the crowd cheered.  
"Did you score?" Sirius asked his teammate.  
"Nope," Jenny answered cheerily, "but I made a damn good number of assists, if I do say so myself!"  
James Potter, glowing, noticed that even Evans was cheering, and, detaching himself from Alex, casually tossed the Snitch in the air, catching it again before it could escape.  
"Show-off," muttered Lily from her seat, but Remus and Peter, waving their sign, cheered loudest of all.  
November went by quickly, since Alex had no intention of letting up practice at all, despite the fact that they didn't have another game until February. James and Sirius worked insanely on perfecting Sleeping Draughts, considering they would need similar skills later in the final potion, testing them on themselves and nearly giving McGonagall a heart attack when she found them, thinking they, two purebloods, had been victim to the strange sleeping sickness which had taken over ten Muggle-born students, one professor (Vonn Donn, terrifyingly, split Henson's classes with Sprout), and, perhaps most dramatically, one first year with one Muggle parent, which sent Philips and Lupin through the roof. Their use of Sleeping Draughts also lead to intense questioning in the headmaster's office. Remus and Peter, meanwhile, taught themselves 'Rictusempra', the Tickling Curse, since, for some reason, a high tolerance for it was required. (Sirius did not like the sound of that, one bit, but it turned out it was almost impossible to get him to laugh from tickling, even under that spell).

At the end of the month, Ravenclaw crushed Hufflepuff, 300 to 20, after a game that went late into the night, despite Shacklebolt's strong team. Gideon Prewett, previously Seeker, had switched positions after watching James play in his game, taking Murphey's place as Beater (which sent Sirius into fits when this led Alex to force him and Belby to practice doubly hard), and tapping a third year to fill in, who had found the Snitch only when Fabian, serving as Keeper, was forced to point it out to the kid, fast on the broom but not in the head. Bell made them all take notes throughout the game. Lily, not on the team, turned in an interesting analysis which Black insisted Bell kept under his pillow, certain it would help him win.

At long last, December rolled around, leading Remus to crack open _Moste Potente Potions_ and insist that Sirius and James use a certain potion he was developing during vacations. Sirius was horrified, considering the picture next to the Potion demonstrated a man turned inside out. He tapped Peter to drink it, cheating at the discovery he'd made, 'drawing straws', and insuring Peter picked the short one. Pettigrew, very nervously, kept one eye at the bottle he was bringing home over vacation as the holidays drew nearer.

The day of departure, James stuffed his trunk with pleasure, humming a familiar tune. Sirius, clapping him on the back as he entered the room, flopped spread-eagle on the bed, lazily ignoring the rest of the world.

Sighing, James rapped him hard on the bottom of the shoe, prompting Sirius' head to rise slightly. "Start packing," he insisted, tugging his friend upright.

This time, the entire neck lifted as Sirius looked at him hopefully. "Your mother still wants me to go with you?"

"Isn't that what I've been telling you?" James said in exasperation, rubbing his glasses, before realizing, suddenly, that in fact he had not. "Well, Mum doesn't change her mind about this stuff. She has threatened to boil me alive if I leave you alone at school again, for both your good and the good of Hogwarts. Now, hurry up, or we'll miss the Knight Bus!" James commanded.

Sirius jumped to attention, saluted, and began hurling his stuff into his battered suitcase. Only when James' back was turned back to his own frantic searching for his Invisibility Cloak did he allow a ridiculous, beaming smile to light up his face.

Shortly thereafter, two yet-diminutive figures could be seen trotting down the stairs at a ridiculous face, knocking down suitcase bearing friends and foes in their hustle. Lily Evans, looking behind her shoulder at the thunderous noise from behind, plastered herself against the wall as Sirius and James raced down the stairs. They were tailed immediately by a calmer figure in their wake, helping people up, offering rapid apologies, and wishing everyone a Happy Christmas. The last of the four had to push through the re-closed crowd, shouting a desperate, "Wait for meeeee!"

The foursome climbed onto the Knight Bus with angelic grins at the drive, the degree of sweetness on their faces corresponding in magnitude to the degree of mischief in their heads. Finding seats, they looked at each other, realizing that their separation was know looming incredibly close. Rather than voicing any sissy good-byes, they chewed frantically and tossed Drooble's Best Bubblegum at Evans' hair as many times as they could throughout the ride.

Peter was off first, and they all hugged him fiercely, punched him on the shoulder, or clapped him on the back. He got off red in the face and highly winded. Then Remus, which was harder, considering a full moon was over vacation. Sirius suggested "We could tie you up, bring you with us, and tell your parents we've kidnapped you", a suggestion Lupin swiftly vetoed. James solemnly said good-bye to Remus, then demanded that he send them presents and he'd better not forget. A hop, skip, and jump later, and the middle-aged, practically blind driver Ernie had brought them to James'. The leader of the Marauders hurtled out of the van, bowling into his tall father and mother, who wrapped him in her arms and kissed him thoroughly. Sirius, clutching his suitcase like a shield, stepped down, eyes big with the nervousness of an outsider entering where he doesn't belong.

Mrs. Potter looked up at once, her hair, the same shade as James', billowing about her. She beamed, extending her hands to him. "Well, if it isn't Sirius! My goodness, how you've grown since I saw you last year!" She ruffled his shaggy hair bemusedly. "Oh, dear!" She laughed. "I'll trim this right away, darling. You've met James' father when you blew up the train, of course-"

"Is that how he told it?" the two boys chorused, turning to the man with hazel eyes and James' long nose, but creamy, soft brown hair that stuck up in the exact same way.

Mr. Potter adjusted his glasses and changed the subject as he sized them up. "Jeez, kiddos, you'll be taller than I am soon enough! C'mere, let me take a look at you- oh, and Happy Christmas- wait'll you see what we've got you- I picked out these- "

"Henry!"

Sirius, looking up at these people who knew to be good and their expansive house behind them, felt, for the first time in his life, that he'd come home.


	18. Second Year: Changing

Sirius, in the middle of a snore, momentarily stopped breathing as he woke up to his friend leaping on top of him and hitting his stomach quite painfully. Before his bleary eyes could open, he was tugged out of bed and bounced on the carpeted floor. He looked up as James' stuffed Magpie mascot was hurled at his face. "Ouch," he said sleepily, woozily adding, "Y'know, this is usually my job. What time is it?"

"Up! Up!"James ordered. "Five in the morning, but it's Christmas! Presents!"

Sirius' head snapped up, instantly alert, as he yanked his tangled Snitch covered covers off. "What are we waiting for?" he demanded

"You!" James barked, as he began to tug his friend to the stairs. The pair thundered down the stairs, crashing into each other as they struggled to be the first one down. James dove ahead of Sirius, rolling as he hit the floor, casting a triumphant glance back at his friend. His hair was even worse than normal, despite his mother's attempt to make it lie flat, jet black strands shooting in all directions, especially straight up.

They both paused, awed by the lovely tree, which seemed so much more impressive in the faint, pinkish light streaming through the windows than when they were decorating it the previous day. The fairies, vainly and proudly sparkling among the evergreen branches of the enormous pine, which reached nearly to top of the high ceiling, began to shine brighter the moment they realized they had an audience. The revolving star at the top caught the morning light, softly sending it into the faces of the two boys with a slightly more golden tinge. Crystal ballerinas danced within their glass balls and silver broomsticks, painstakingly carved to match their real models, flew in small circles as they dangled from one branch or another. Each ornament held a memory, Mrs. Potter had explained, and some were even heirlooms which stretched back generations, such as the rather battered wooden lion which hung from a particularly high branch.

The ornaments were so many they were slightly cluttered, and their placement was at times rather random. The gold star was in fact missing the edge of one of its points, but though they could easily afford to, the Potters would never replace it. The tree itself was slightly lopsided and though large, drooping, but James had insisted upon it. Sirius noticed the imperfections with glee, adoring this tree far more than the perfect one of gilded silver that he knew even now sat in the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place.

James' eyes, however, latched firmly onto the mountains of presents billowing under the tree. Stacked carefully and neatly wrapped, they made quite a sight. Had the edges of the boxes not looked so intimidatingly sharp, he would very well have launched himself upon them. Even so, his eyes glinted, and he began to bolt forward, as a strong hand suddenly clamped down on his arm.

Mr. Potter, his creamy brown hair even mussier than James', stood behind the pair, mouth firmly set but eyes dancing. "We will let," he said strongly, "your mother sleep in, James, and when she is ready- and only then- will you open your presents."

"Aw, Dad-" James began, rather whiningly.

"Otherwise, I have no intention of giving you the packages that have arrived from a Mr. Lupin, Mr. Pettigrew, and- most suspiciously- Mr. and Mr. Prewett."

The two exchanged quick glances. They had ordered an enormously large supply of equipment from Gideon, which they had certainly not expected to be arriving any time soon. Most of it, was, unfortunately, dangerously illegal, and considering Mr. Potter was Head of the Division for the Enforcement of Magical Contrabands (which was how, in fact, James had landed his Invisibility Cloak, after it was confiscated from a hunter illegally selling Demiguise pelts) and that among the shipment, not gift, from the Prewetts, was certainly the shards of a Chimaera egg, a needed ingredient to begin the spell for the main Animagi potion and like the eggs themselves, a Class A Non-Tradeable Good. How the Prewetts had managed it, the Marauders didn't know, but they had assured the quartet it would be no problem (apparently, it had something to do with their association with Fletcher). In no way was the fact that Mr. Potter had his hands on this box a good thing. And, of course, James and Sirius desperately wanted their presents from Moony and Peter.

They slumped, James casting a wistful glance at the presents, knowing perfectly well he could escape his father long enough to shake a few if he tried.

"Cocoa?" Henry Potter said brightly, indicating a couple of cups behind him.

They were through several cups of the rich, chocolate drink with enormous marshmellows floating in and a good few hours when Emily Potter came downstairs. Her doe brown eyes glowing, she laughed, "Happy Christmas," cutting off James' blunt, growly, "'Bout time," with a kiss on the forehead, which she then bestowed upon Sirius as well. Her white robe, Sirius noted, had little Snitches and Bludgers dotting it, a gift picked out by her son from her last birthday. Her jet black hair billowing like a mane around her fair face, she quickly erased James' impatience as she turned on the stove with a flick of her wand and began to make pancakes, which she flipped in very interesting ways, with casual turns of her wrist sending them floating all about only to plummet downwards.

Crowded around the table, they ate heartily, Sirius and James positively drenching their pancakes with syrup. James, ever so often, would slightly edge off his chair in the direction of the tree, only, at the very last moment, for his father to shove him back into his proper position, acting under the table so his wife wouldn't notice.

At long last, all their plates, emptied of food, were floated daintily over to the sink, and Mrs. Potter, taking one last swig of milk, raised her eyebrows at the squirming boys. "The green and red wrapped ones are yours, James; Sirius, yours are tied up in gold and white. Go," she said, waving her hands at them.

James didn't need to be told twice, and plunged towards the pile of presents circling the tree. Sirius, on the other hand, looked with shock towards the good half of the pile he was just told was his. He reddened. "Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter, I couldn't possibly-"

"We've already bought them and we're not returning them. Open your presents, already!" Mr. Potter insisted, for he was nearly as giddy as James, waiting to see what they thought of the gifts. The money was really, of no consequence, considering the Potters were one of the better off wizarding families, though they tried not to make a point of it.

"Er," said Sirius awkwardly, "thanks!" Then, with something of a whoop, he leaped up and, along with his best friend, began tearing off the wrapping.

Beaming, Mr. Potter moved to join them, then paused with great dismay as a fire sparked up in the other, connected room, glowing a flaming red, a common sight in this house. "For Godric's sake," he groaned.

Mrs. Potter looked with concern at his expression, then whirled to see a woman's head pop up in the fire place, which looked around until it spotted them in the other room, and then began to tilt her chin towards the fire in an urgent manner. "Oh, dear," she sighed. "Henry, it's Christmas. You don't honestly-"

He removed his glasses, rubbing them clean. "You know how Crouch is getting-"

Her brown eyes hardened. "The way that man acts, you'd think he was Head of the Department."

"It may only be a matter of time," her husband sighed. He cast a glance at the woman's head, which shot them both a rueful look. "I'll have to get changed. Merlin, who knows what's happened now. Don't let onto the boys, Emy. It'd ruin their day, particularly James', and I'll be back soon, I'm sure."

"Your division should have nothing to do with this," she said hotly, but with a quiet voice, insuring the boys, with their loud exclamations of delight, could not hear her. This was an old topic with them. "You handle imports, this-"

"When we're seeing Russian wizards showing up daily, it becomes my problem. You know what things are like for wizards in the Soviet Union, Em. The spells and goods they are bringing here-" he stopped himself, letting out a slight breath even as he moved for the stairs. "And my particular.. skills may be-"

"Oh, stop being modest, Henry, you've never been and it doesn't suit you," said his wife, both amused and annoyed. "You know you're the best damn duelist they've got working for them, so just come out and say it."

He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He leaned forward to kiss her. "What need, you'll say it for me. Keep the boys busy, keep them happy. I hid a few of their packages in our closet, for when they want them. Just keep James distracted. He's a smart kid, you know how he worries." He turned, heading up the stairs, pulling off his robe as he ran up, revealing his flannels.

"Like me," sighed his wife distractedly, heading back to the kitchen in time to see James leaping about with the latest broom kit from Quidditch Quality Supplies and Sirius laughing somewhat maniacally over a Make Your Own Dung Bombs set from Zonko's.

Henry, remarkably quickly dressed in his work robes, distractedly kissed the top of her head as he rushed by, his long legs stretching as he jumped over an empty box of ornaments still out. James and his friend didn't notice.

"Say hello to Jules for me," Mrs. Potter called quickly, and he grinned, shooting her a thumbs up. Still so much like a boy, she thought, shaking her head. A wonder that she'd been more trouble than him in school, but unlike her, Henry never quite outgrew it. She suspected, casting a glance at her son, that James wouldn't either.

Henry, frantically tying his tie, bent to give the impatient woman waiting a quick peck on the cheek. "Happy Christmas, Juliet. Emy says hi."

She smiled slightly as she watched him gather Floo powder, which puffed dust slightly as he lifted the pot, causing him to sneeze. "Send her my love when you get back."

"So what's it this time?" he said, smoothing the last of sleep from his tired eyes. "What does the old blowhard want now?"

She shot him a slightly admonishing look, made more severe by the tautness of her bun, which kept her curly brown hair in check. "Crouch needs us. There's been an attack on a Muggle town near Dover."

"Swell," he said sharply, then waved at her absently, leading her head to disappear. A moment later, he departed, and stepped out into the Floo arrival zone in the Ministry of Magic, accessible only by employees, where the woman awaited, tapping her foot. "More men in masks, I suppose?" he continued as he brushed the soot of his robes, thankful they were already black.

His old school friend's blue eyes, so light they were the color of fog, clouded over and darkened as they headed down the familiar corridor to their department. "If only. Dementors, Henry."

"From Azkaban?" he gaped, quickening his pace to match her stride.

"No. Those are still in place, though who knows for how long. Foul things, useful though they may be," she spat out. "It's a whole swarm of them, though from where no one knows. Albus thought there would be some with Rid- sorry, _Vol_-demort," she said with sneering contempt, "but we weren't prepared for this many. It's practically disgraceful, half our Aurors can't even manage a bloody Patronus and so they're sitting on their asses while those things are fluttering about unseen, ripping out souls and causing all sorts of depression, probably leading to an extraordinary number of suicides- we'll be hearing about that in the Muggle papers, no doubt. That's the absolute last thing we need, means those bleaters in the Office of Misinformation will get involved, and none of those wizards have the slightest idea how to handle anything except by claiming it's a hoax. If the Wizardgamot doesn't-"

"Juliet Philips," Henry said in his calm-down tone that he used on James. "Will you just tell me exactly what it is we are meant to be doing?"

Juliet sighed dramatically, her socialite air contributing to her picture of dismay. "We have to coalesce with a team of Aurors, useless creatures that they are, and go against the dementors. Clearly, you see why Crouch wanted me to get you."

Henry looked rather sick. "Any chance I'll make it back in time to watch James and his friend finish opening presents?"

"Henry, we'll be lucky if we make it home in time for Christmas turkey."

Sirius and James, faces red, romped in the snow (magic insured there was always plenty of it at a wizarding house), on opposite sides of snow banks they had built up. They seemed deadly serious in their 'war', utilizing the magical gloves Remus had sent them, which not only crushed snowballs into an absolutely round, smush-on-impact shape but turned the snow they held into the color of the gloves. (Lupin had also sent a Transfiguration book for James and a hand-carved, mahogany lute with perfect pitch for Sirius).

After being hit in the face by his friend's excellent aim several times as he was unable to dodge properly in his heavy snow gear, James, falling back as if struck, made a snow angel on the ground.

"Surrender?" Sirius shouted.

"Never!" James declared loudly, still flopped in the feathery snow, not ideal for making snowballs without Remus' gift. He stopped. "Well, maybe."

"What?" said Sirius in surprise, as he hurtled over his own wall of snow to bound over and look down from James'. "Who are you and what have you done with James?" he demanded, the floppy eared hat he'd borrowed swinging down. He narrowed his dark eyes and tried to look intimidating as he leaned over James' wall.

His friend's response was to toss a snowball in his face from his position on the ground.

Sirius, clutching his throat in mock injury, tumbled over the wall.

"What I meant," James said in explanation, as if speaking to a child, "is we could team up. I thought maybe my dad would play with us."

Black frowned, his short dark hair only slightly visible under the hat. "Where'd he go, anyways? I haven't seen him since breakfast."

"Napping, probably," Potter answered, as he rolled to a sitting position and sprang to his feet. He cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered to the house. "Mum! Oy, Mum! Where's Dad got to?"

The door slid open as James and Sirius loped up to it, his mother standing there. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and out of her face so as to see her son better. Henry had been gone a long time now, and she wasn't about to lie to James. "He had to go to work."

James' face completely fell. "Oh." There were many complaints he wished to voice at this, but James wasn't the sort who'd whine just because his father had to go to his job- even on Christmas. And, unfortunately, he was used to it. He thought quickly. "Well, would you come play with us, Mum?"

Her red lips quirked into the same smile as James'. "Am I your second choice?"

"'Course not, always the first," Sirius piped up.

"Good answer," she told him, grinning. "I'll get my coat."

When Henry Potter came home, exhausted, covered in soot and grime and completely disheartened, he was surprised to find no dinner on the stove. After glancing curiously about the darkened house and finding only the scolding house elf diligently at work cleaning, he heard the sound of dear laughter and peered out the window, to find his wife, hair damp and face aglow, doing battle with James and Sirius, one ongoing for hours, listening to their yells and James' protests that using magic was cheating. Tired as he was, he went out and joined them.

"Your folks are the greatest people in the entire world," Sirius vowed as the Knight Bus headed away, his new red trunk with his initials on it holding his new robes, clothes, and other presents. He glanced over his shoulder longingly, back at the enormous house and the diminishing figures in the distance, still waving.

"I know," said James almost smugly, gripping his seat tightly as the bus hurtled away.

"And your mother is the prettiest woman and best mother I've ever met," he added, as he adjusted his considerably less shaggy, almost shining hair.

"Of course," James allowed.

"And they're so generous and they give the best presents," Sirius babbled happily.

"Right, they've got to be great 'cause I'm perfect- ow!" James rubbed his ear, Sirius having cuffed him. "Knock that off."

"Sure, J.P."

"Don't even think about calling me that."

"Jamie? Jim? Jimmers? Jimmy? Jam- OW!"

The bus, with a thump, stopped, and after a moment, lugging his trunk, Remus Lupin, looking rather tired from the last full moon, boarded. He took in the sight of James and Sirius attempting to strangle each other without so much as blinking. He grinned, slipping in besides them and amused himself considerably for several moments by watching their antics.

James caught a glimpse of Remus out of the corner of his eye, carried on, then did a double take. He poked Sirius, who moved to retaliate until James pointed.

"Moony!!" Sirius cried gleefully, ruffling his friend's sandy hair. "Great present, we used it all vacation- though I'm not sure I'll ever forgive you for the lu-"

"The book is fabulous," James interrupted, eyes gleaming. "I'm assuming you know it tells how to Transfigure a key hole to suit whatever key one happens to have and how to turn flowers into fireworks-"

"Did you get our present?" Sirius asked eagerly, pushing James aside.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "An interesting package. I particularly appreciated the giant chew toy."

"We made it ourselves," Sirius said delightedly, elbowing James, who was attempting to ask what Remus had made of the new Charms book and was he better than Evans yet.

They spoke for quite awhile, Sirius giving plentiful details about their vacation,until James finally remembered something Remus would find important. "Oh, the stuff from the Prewetts arrived."

"What?" said Remus, jerking as the Knight Bus dropped to a halt. He lowered his voice as Marlene and Alice boarded, chattering. "Everything we need to start the potion?"

"Not to mention a good year's supply of fireworks we only have half a year left to use," Black added.

"And a carton of Exploding Boomerangs," James mused, "though I still haven't worked out how to use those without blowing our heads off in the process. But, yeah, all the stuff we need, the boomslang skin, Chimaera egg shards, four bezoars so we don't kill ourselves, monkshood with a poison warning on it, those glowing mushrooms from India- the rest of the stuff we can get from the forest or won't need for a long time, right? Question is, are we ready to start making it yet?"

Remus nodded slowly, talking almost to himself. "If we keep up working every month... yeah, we just might manage it. Depends if the Polyjuice Potion I gave Peter worked or not."

Sirius made a face. "That's the one that turns you inside out, right?"

Remus gave him a look suggesting he was demented. "Noooo. It's the one that makes you look like someone else- I actually borrowed one of James' hairs, considering I wasn't quite sure what one of mine would do to a chap."

Sirius blinked. "You're saying if I took that potion instead of Peter, James and I could have tormented his parents considering they'd have no idea which of us was which and then pretended we were evil twins to everyone we met?"

"Well, yeah."

"And you didn't tell me it doesn't turn you inside out why?!"

"How was I supposed to know you thought that?" Remus shrugged. "If you'd just taken it like I wanted you to, or bothered to look up the uses of the ingredients you nicked, or played fair at drawing straws-"

"You know about that?" Sirius gaped.

Remus smiled rather smugly. "I'm omniscient."

James was still puzzling something out. "How, exactly, did you get one of my hairs?" he insisted.

"Off your pillow," Remus answered easily.

"I leave hairs on my pillow?" James said, somewhat concerned. "Does that mean I'm going bald?"

Sirius gave him an evil look. "Yes, of course."

"Moony?" said James, clutching his hands to his hair and patting it lovingly.

Remus, unable to keep a straight face, cracked up at James' horrified expression, and Sirius cackled wickedly. Lily Evans boarded the bus, her green eyes slipping from relaxation to suspicion as she entered a bus along with hysterically laughing Marauders. She seated herself as far away as possible, having spent long enough getting gum out of her hair after the last bus ride.

The bus lurched far to one side as it sped suddenly down London streets, nearly crashing over a guardrail and sending everyone over to the right side. As the Knight Bus dodged a number of cars, Sirius' face suddenly went carefully blank, then he put his face in his hands and began to mumble incoherently, "Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no-"

"What?" James and Remus chorused, concerned, and propped their suddenly limp friend up.

"I know this street," he said weakly, as the bus ground to a halt, its doors flying open. Blonde, snobby Narcissa boarded, followed by the youngest, dark-haired Bellatrix.

"Oh, your evil cousins," said James with understanding.

"Not them I'm worried about," Sirius moaned.

Andromeda, her medium dark hair between her two sisters' shades, narrowed her bright blue eyes and made a bee-line for Sirius as she boarded.

"I am so, so sorry," he said immediately.

"You're supposed to warn me when you're not going home," she said somewhat angrily. "You boarded the Knight Bus, I assumed, for some silly reason, you were heading home- I rather suspected your mother threatened to dismember you otherwise, and besides, I was still rather mad at Fabian because he was flirti- never mind, so I thought I'd head home and that we'd survive the family get-together the way we usually do, by commiserating, and then you get off at Potter's house- by then far, far too late for me to go back. Holiday parties with my parents, my sisters, Uncle Hector, Aunt Anastasia, and your darling sibling? A riot, never had more fun in my life. And after all those years before you started school when I'd suffer through two weeks with my family instead of staying just so _you_ wouldn't suffer the holiday gathering alone-"

"So, so sorry?" Sirius tried again.

"Warn me, next time?" she sighed, unable to stay mad at Sirius, who was making puppy dog eyes at his favorite cousin.

"I will never, no matter what, go to my parent's house for Christmas ever again," Sirius warned her.

She blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Thanks, then." She stumbled slightly heading to her seat as the bus jerked.

"Oops," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. "But she'd probably have gone anyways. Never gives up hope they'll change, Andy. Eternal optimist, and all- Oy! Pettigrew household ahoy!"

Remus and James' heads jerked around to the direction Sirius was gazing at, watching their excited friend rush forward to board. They jumped to their feet to greet him, falling against each other as the bus came to a screeching halt.

"Guys! Guys!" Peter started, but then Sirius clapped him on the back so hard he found himself unable to breathe properly for several minutes.

"Never," James began solemnly, hazel eyes glowing.

"Have we seen," Sirius continued.

"So much candy in our lives," James finished, licking his lips. Peter had sent them huge baskets from Honeydukes, filled with each of their favorite sweets.

"Did it work?" Remus asked impatiently, shouldering past Sirius and James. "The potion, that is," he said more quietly, making it hard to hear over his friends' jabbering, "did it work or not?"

Peter, recovering his breath, continued, beaming, "I turned into James!"

"Shh, quieter," said Remus quickly. "And it wore off in an hour?"

"I'd say about. I nearly gave my mother a heart attack, I had to pretend James had come to visit without permission and then left really quick to get a homework assignment, so she might not like you much anymore," Peter continued eagerly, turning to James, who winced, as Peter's mother had sent along with the candy some of the best cookies he'd ever tasted.

After a sharp turn, which sent them all tumbling to the floor on top of Peter, Philips boarded the bus, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. She rushed over to Lily, speaking loudly enough for the whole bus to overhear. "Did you hear? Did you hear? The dementors are back and they've already attacked!"

The Marauders whirled. "What?" James demanded, as Sirius paled.

"Didn't you know?" she said incredulously. "Your dad was there."

"When? Where?" James said, suddenly frantic.

"They attacked on Christmas. My mom told me all about it- with detail," she said, shuddering. "Eight suicides, five committed for severe depression, and three who lost their souls- isn't that the worst thing you've ever heard?"

Sirius, eyes wide, sunk back into his seat.

"Of course, people knew some were back- there had been a few sightings, but nothing for sure, and no one thought they'd attack, ever, there's been no such reports since the Grindewald war, and all those poor people-" Philips cut off, eyes dark.

Bellatrix coughed slightly, not disguising her short laugh. "People?" she said contemptuously. "I'd hardly call Muggles people."

Philips froze. "My father is a Muggle," she said in a tight voice, eyes flashing.

Lily tugged her friend down. "She's not worth it," she said audibly. "Don't let her get to you." Plainly, she had, as Philips glared at the slightly older girl the rest of the ride.

"Lost their souls?" Sirius said faintly. "I thought that was legend."

"It's not," said Remus tautly. They looked at him in surprise. "I've done plenty of reading about Dark creatures, for obvious reasons."

"I was right, though. People already knew what you knew," James said rather reassuringly to Sirius.

"Yeah, but maybe if I'd told... there'd have been proof they were allied with V-V-," Sirius paused, looking to James to supply the name he'd forgotten.

"Voldemort," he said quietly.

"Right, and they'd have known they'd attack."

"Nope," said James, shaking his head. "And there'd still be no way of knowing when, or where, see? What I want to know is why my father didn't tell us. All vacation, not a word."

"Wouldn't want to worry you," Remus surmised.

James sulked, sitting back in his seat. "Sometimes I like to be worried," he complained.

His friends exchanged looks. "That's not exactly what he means," Peter determined.

"We get that," Sirius assured him distractedly, still thinking about the dementors.

Remus noticed his friend's shudder. "Well, there will never be a dementor at Hogwarts," he said upliftingly. "Anyway, this Voldemort'll never bother us there. We've got Dumbledore."

James perked up, snickering slightly. "Dumbledore taught him, y'know," he told his friend. "Sir and I heard my dad telling my mum. Riddle was a kid, Slytherin obviously, when Dumbledore was still a teacher, head of Gryffindor house. Bet he was just like Snivellus, an ugly slimy git."

"We're assuming you don't mean Dumbledore," Remus added wryly, leading to James shooting him a look.

"Considering Dumbledore blew the last Dark wizard away, this fellow's got to be shivering in his boots whenever his name comes up," Peter decided, looking decidedly more cheerful.

"Hogwarts is the safest place in the world, as long as Dumbledore's there," James said securely.

Sirius gave them odd looks. "Well, obviously. Are you all trying to reassure me?" he said in disbelief. "Yeah, dementors are creepy, but this Dark Wizard, he's just attacked a bunch of Muggle towns so far and sent a few threatening messages. He's not so big and bad - I'm about as scared of him as I am of a Doxy!" he boasted.

"Oh, me too," James said instantly.

"Of course!" Remus added.

There was a brief pause as the Knight Bus screeched around a corner.

"Of course, Doxies can be somewhat frightening," Peter said timidly.

"True," Remus said instantly.

"Yeah, they're poisonous and all," said James hurridly.

"Well, there is that," Sirius confessed.

There was a longer pause this time, and then they forgot it all when the Knight Bus slammed into a cow, sending it flying with a great moo.

It was good to be back, James decided that night, returning from having blown up all the toilets in the girl's bathroom on the fourth floor. Having passed the Fat Lady safely, Remus released his hand from around Sirius' mouth. James hummed a tune quietly to himself, leading to Sirius sending him rays of death with his eyes, as it was a song Black never wanted to hear ever, ever again. Bad enough Gideon and Shacklebolt, on cue, burst into a cackling rendition of it as Fabian, when Andromeda walked in, rushed forward, tilted her back, and kissed her (four weeks detention for inappropriate conduct). Sirius, ever so casually, stuck his foot before his friend as they trudged up the stairs. James, watching a blaze of red hair in the common room as he walked in, failed to notice and stumbled into Remus, sending the pair of them tumbling in a pile to the ground. Peter tried desperately not to laugh as Sirius snickered. James, glowering but laughing despite himself, reached to tackle Sirius, who nimbly dodged.

Evans looked up and rolled her eyes. She resumed the game of wizard chess she was playing against Alice, who seemed to be soundly beating her.

Loud, eerie wails suddenly rose up from outside. Everyone in the Gryffindor dormitory completely froze, exchanging glances. Frank Longbottom snatched a poker sitting by the fireplace, and dragging Belby along, headed for the window.

Excitedly and bouncing up and down, Davy Gudgeon began to exclaim, "It's the ghosts of the Shrieking Shack! Oh, boy! They must be really really riled up!"

Longbottom looked dubious and raised the poker as he opened the window, peering out. Nothing seemed to be unusual, and the origin of the cacophony of noise seemed undeterminable beyond being generally outside.

"You can't hit a ghost, Frank," Belby said patiently, all too used to the heroic tendencies of his friend by now.

The eyes of the other three Marauders ticked to Moony, who was clearly not in wolf form, and shrugged cluelessly. Most others, except a slightly disappointed Frank, seemed either unnerved or simply ignoring the sounds.

Peter looked suddenly worried. "You don't think there actually are-"

"No," said Remus impatiently, "and I, of all people, should know. Anyway, it's not coming from the Shrieking Shack, it's coming from the lake."

They gave him mildly impressed looks, often forgetting his hearing was ever-so-slightly sharper than their own.

James seemed to be musing over something. "Let's go there! Dumbledore suggested avoiding it, right, so something must be up," he declared, eyes gleaming.

"Oh, no," said Remus quickly, stalling his friend, already bolting for the Invisibility Cloak. "Not tonight." He lowered his voice. "We've got to get down to the kitchens, remember, and replace all the cups with the Continuously Cracking Cups we ordered. Or do we want to lose the right to call ourselves Marauders?"

James, baited, immediately forgot his previous suggestion as he whacked himself on the head. "Of course! How could I have forgotten! A masterpiece, a master-stroke, and lasting for-"

"But, James, I wanna go to the lake," Sirius whined, poking his lip out and making puppy-dog eyes. His friends burst out in laughter, Sirius looking perfectly innocent as others swiveled to look. Conspiring quietly, they began to edge down the stairs. By the time they returned, on tiptoe and crammed under the Invisibility Cloak, especially carrying several boxes of cups apiece, a surprising person had entered as well.

The quartet froze as both Philips' cat and Mrs. Norris, twining about her owner's legs, turned their shiny orbs of eyes up to them.

"Filch!" Sirius barked in surprise, and Remus and James fell over themselves trying to get their hands over his mouth.

The greasy, stringy-haired man was distracted, however, eyes searching the room under a large, red welt on his head. "Philips?" he demanded. "Where's Philips?"

Callie Bell quickly backed away and pointed at Jenny. "There. That's her. What'd she do?"

Filch lunged forward and clasped onto her arm, the girl shrinking back onto the couch away from him. "You do speak Mermish?" he said, in his strange, somewhat sarcastic tone.

She blinked, eyes wide and rather disbelieving. "Er... some not rather polite language, and some greetings-"

"All you'll need," Filch insisted, rolling his eyes, and dragged her towards the portrait hole.

"Mermish?" whispered Remus, quirking an eyebrow.

Sirius seemed to be lost in thought. "Well, it explains the loud, smacking, wholloping sounds admidst the screaming," he decided, a bit too loudly, and James nearly went tumbling down the stairs as he tried, in vain, to keep Sirius' mouth forcibly closed.

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"Dum, dum, da dum, da da dum da dum da dum da," Sirius sang to himself, as another Galleon was reluctantly clunked in front of him. As the only drinking vessels currently available in Hogwarts simply exploded all over the attempted drinker, the Marauders were making a killing selling butterbeer bottles they'd fetched at the Three Broomsticks last night for double the price. In between classes, they'd set up a small stand in an unused bathroom, and if anyone wanted to drink anything besides water directly from the sink, they had to go through them. The Prewetts, Stebbins, and a few others carefully selected were receiving free supplies in exchange for carefully spreading the word of mouth, since if Evans or Longbottom found out, the teachers would be down on them in a flash. Really, it was rather amazing, since this was now the second night of the Continuously Cracking Cups, and several more days till any new cups would arrive. Sirius, rather greedily, cupped a handful of gold in his hands and threw it over his head, ducking and wincing as the painfully large coins rained down on him.

Good news, too, for the Muggle borns of the school, as according to a triumphant Lily Evans, there were no reports of the sleeping sickness over Christmas or since return to the school, even though that was so far brief. Belby, a pureblood, could be heard to hopefully remark at the already dreary, everyday Quidditch practices, that it was quite possible he'd passed the contagion to his stepsister. Things were back to normal, though the occupants of the hospital wing showed not the slightest signs of stirring, which meant more Potions classes with Vonn Donn.

"Thank you for shopping with us, come back soon," Sirius said to another customer, handing her change in Sickles. The Hufflepuff girl smiled and blushed at him, and hustled away, clutching her bottle, leaving the room temporarily empty, since it was between the end of classes and the dinner rush.

"This is turning out quite nicely," James commented to Remus, as he practiced transfiguring toilets into fat, purring Persian cats. "Wonder why Dumbledore hasn't just summoned up a whole bunch of goblets, though. Maybe he just hasn't bothered, or maybe he wants us to make money. Maybe he hasn't even noticed since he hasn't been eating at the feasts, though that's probably wishful thinking. Shopping trip to Zonko's Saturday?" he suggested casually, turning an enormous, mewling feline back into a toilet. "I don't really want to see Bell fret while Ravenclaw flattens Slytherin- not that I ever mind Slytherin getting the tar beaten out of them, but ol' cap gets worked up into a frenzy over the Prewetts' team."

"Maybe we'll go," mused Remus, pouring over a list. "The spell we're trying this month is a bit complex, though. The Patronus Charm. Hmm. We'll need a lot of practice. Not to mention that we want to start the potion-"

"Practice, schmactice," said Sirius, indignant while he noticed one of the Galleons he'd accepted was really foil-covered chocolate. He bit it, frowning.

Peter, perched on the edge of a sink, was biting the tip of his tongue, in the corner of his mouth, as he struggled over homework. "What's the last ingredient in a Swelling Solution?" he wondered.

He never found out the answer. As James turned one toilet back, a whirl of wind and water came swirling out of it, sending the two flying backwards and right into Sirius, knocking over the butterbeer bottles, shattering them, and sending Galleons flying about the floor, spinning and clattering. Peter dove off the sink and under it, then, seeing safety in numbers, scuttling over behind Sirius.

"Aaaaaaah!" they screamed together, mouths open, as they clutched each other. Water continued to spurt out of the toilet, forming a mist above it. Then, suddenly, a pair of pearly glasses appeared among the water, followed by whimpers, and a rather pudgy, upset looking, equally pearly girl ghost.

"And what has poor Myrtle ever done to warrant such dreadful, dreadful treatment?" she wailed, moving out and floating around them, waving her arms about dramatically. The four stopped screaming, but their mouths hung open. "Oh, I know they're always laughing at me, poor, pitiful, path-etic Myrtle, and calling me dreadful names." She squinted her eyes at them. "And they've blown up my toilet, and thrown things at me- but never, ever, ever has anyone ever turned my home into a c-cat!"

"Sorry," said James rather squeakily, then recovering. "But, jeez, we didn't even know you were in here, much less in the toilet-"

"If we had, we wouldn't have come in," Sirius added under his breath, standing up and looking mournfully at all the broken butterbeer bottles and the sweet liquid streaming across the floor.

"Oh," Myrtle keened, "I'm ignored and forgotten! Nobody likes me or thinks of me! Ohhh," she cried, beginning to sob.

"Well, it can't be your glowing personality," said Sirius sourly, picking up the scattered coins. Remus elbowed him, hard, as she began to sob louder.

"We really didn't mean to disturb you," James said, speaking quickly and with some small measure of guilt as her tears began to collect on the floor. "We'll just be leav-"

"Y'know, if you cheered up a considerable bit and left the toilet once in a while, I'm sure you'd do just fine," Sirius said brightly. "Make some friends- I'm sure the second year girls Gryffindor dormitory would adore having you visit them."

"They're alive," Myrtle said scornfully with a sniffle, "and they're just like Olive Hornby, all pretty and mean and teasing me and calling me dreadful names. Silly Myrtle! Moaning Myrtle! Miserable, stupid, ugly Myrtle!"

"Aw, you're not so bad, if you washed your hair and got better glasses and your pimples cleared up and you lost a good few pounds or just dressed better, I suppose," Sirius said rather sympathetically.

"She's dead, Sir," said Peter, tugging his friend's arm, while James and Remus just stared in disbelief.

"You have to rub it in my face!" she shrieked, and dove back down the toilet, splashing them as she did so.

They stared after her.

"Mental, that one," said James with a shudder, and the toilet bubbled with a sob at his words. They winced.

Quietly, Remus said, "All right, we'll need another out of order bathroom- a boy's bathroom, this time, please."

"There is no other out of order bathroom," Peter reminded them.

"So we put one out of order," James and Sirius chorused, eyes twinkling evily.

As predicted, Ravenclaw murdered Slytherin in the match, 480- 20, a game which went nearly into the night since the Snitch simply could not be found. According to the Prewetts, the only reason Fabian was scored on was because he fell asleep on his broom, but no one could vouch for that. Meanwhile, the items the Marauders acquired would torment the castle for months to come. The new sets of cups never landed, Fabian, in a dark mood when he learned the class of Flitwick's he had skipped had been a test day, having blown them up. By now, the Marauders weren't making any money, most people having acquired their own source of drinks, or cups delivered from home.

Classes became harder, and some people even began to worry about exams. Lily Evans had begun inquiring, with every new topic broached, whether this would be on the exam and if so, how much and in what form of questioning. Remus took more thorough notes, even as James tossed Filibuster Fireworks into the cauldron of someone working nearby in Potions. James and Sirius had decreed Patronus Charms impossible, Peter didn't bother trying, and Remus insisted he was able to do it as long as no one was watching. They had also attempted to begin the complicated, time-consuming Animagus potion required as part of the transformation, but so far had only succeeded in wasting ingredients. Bell picked up Quidditch practices, leading to his players sleeping through not just History of Magic, but more often than not, also Charms, since Flitwick had no notion of discipline. Sirius looked gaunt and rather scary in the mornings, James stayed the color of Moaning Myrtle, Philips' short, curly hair stuck out in all directions, and Belby was even more snarly than usual, and typically tackled at least two Slytherins a week, meaning he usually sported a black eye and a slightly scary grin.

January sighed and gave way to February, which brought a complete end to any soft snow, becoming a grey time of rain and slush. A full moon passed rather quietly, with the other three Marauders attempting to locate fairy wings needed for the potion, even if still attached to the fairy. The danger associated with going to sleep had officially passed, according to Vonn Donn, since no victims had since fallen. The sickness had died down. Yet no cure for the sleepers had been found. James commented he wished it would hit him, at least then he'd get some sleep.

There was bad news, too. Two entrances to Hogsmeade they'd found were now being patrolled by Filch, as well as some of their within the school short cuts. The man worked fast, and his cat seemed to have a nose for sniffing out secret passageways. Excalibur hated Mrs. Norris and seemed to have already made several attempts to kill her, which resulted in him returning with multiple injuries; Cal rose several levels in the esteem of the Marauders and Sirius began to sneak him chocolate, resulting in him no longer attempting to lead Evans to them anytime the foursome departed under the Invisibility Cloak.

With February, many things drew nearer, including the Quidditch game of Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. Not to mention the annual Valentine's Day Ball...

Footsteps rang rapidly in the corridors, the sun streaming through the thick clouds and windows to shine meekly in the stone hallway. Robes flowing behind him, black boots treading quickly, and dusty blond hair a complete mess, Gideon Prewett skidded around the corridor. Out of breath, he continued to chant, "Oh no no no no no," as he ran. Gideon had unfortunately miscalculated. He liked to gamble, and gambled he had. Since Christmas, he'd been splitting his time between the company of two fair young ladies of his own house, within the same dormitory, and managing to keep neither the wiser. He had, of course, forgotten completely about the upcoming ball, and that both expected him to take her. Were he to simply choose one, the other would learn of her rival, and as they were friends, quickly enlighten one another and unite against him. He'd be left without a date, and in disgrace. And both pretty, dark-haired Hestia Jones and lithe, lovely Kitty O'Malley would have naught to do with him again. Both were, of course, looking for him right now.

He wheeled around the corner, jumped over a first year who ducked at his approach, smacked into Sirius Black, who hit his head on the statue of a humped witch, knocked over Professor Flitwick, who squeaked, then bowled into an entire line of Gryffindor girls, knocking them right back into the classroom they'd come out of. He bolted up, shut and locked the door, then moved a desk in front of it for good measure. He pressed himself against a wall and began to pray to any deity who would answer him.

"Either McGonagall's after you to, at last, expel you, or you're in debt up to your eyeballs and someone enormous has come to collect," said a droll voice.

He paused in his supplication, and looked up to find himself staring into a pair of green eyes. "Evans," he said miserably. He perked up considerably as he looked around. "Anderson. Bell! McKinnon! Jenny! You're all girls!"

"So nice of you to notice," said Callie sarcastically. "May we leave now? And, I might add, you are oh so lucky McGonagall left the classroom first."

"We're going to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts," Evans complained, her red hair swishing.

Alice brightened. "We're going to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"I am lucky," Gideon said, surveying them with a glint in his eye that led them to step back slightly. "Lady Luck has always favored me. You're all second years, right?"

"Yuh-huh," said Alice, pulling herself onto a desk and unwrapping gum.

"Goood," he said slowly, formulating a plan. He beamed. "All right. Which one of you wants to go to the ball with me?"

Dead silence.

"What ball?" said Evans suspiciously.

"Exactly what kind of trouble are you in?" Jenny asked him, smiling slightly.

"Thanks, I'd rather die," said Bell swiftly, though she actually found him quite good-looking.

Alice threw her head back and laughed delightedly.

Marlene blushed, her braids, holding her wild and frizzy dark hair in check, swishing about her head.

"Not exactly the response I was looking for," Gideon muttered. "Valentine's Day Ball. Annual. Forth years and up. I'll look like a-" he paused, recalling he was in the presence of young girls, and tempered his language, "fool if I don't attend, not to mention I want to go. But there's two girls who I can't choose between, and I don't like hurting feelings," he continued, likewise tempering the truth.

"You mean, you're dating two and you don't want either to know about the other," Lily analyzed critically. "Probably got money riding on it."

"Got it in one," he admitted, without sheepishness. "Not really dating them, per se, either, though that's probably the word they'd use." He shrugged. "I don't claim to be a nice guy, 'cause I'm pretty sure I'm not one. Still, I'd be glad to get one of you into the ball- you can't go otherwise." He looked pointedly at Jenny. "And I could probably find dates for your friends, too, kiddo, if you wanted 'em there. In return, you dance with my friends, while I dance with their dates, and they'll show you a fine time. They're decent guys, too, and not too shabby in the looks department, even if I am heads and shoulders above the lot. My brother, Pelleon Patil, Frank Longbottom, Robert Johnson, Sturgis Podmore- they're my mates." He grinned. "And their dates are all lookers. Oh, and if you'd mention to all the girls my age that it's so charming of me to take you, just like a darling big brother, and that I'm the bestest guy in the world or something sickeningly cute like that, that'd be swell."

They stared at him, and Jenny sighed.

"We all know you're directing this at Jenny," Lily said practically, "since you couldn't pay the rest of us to go with you, so you might as well just ask her, even though there's no way she'll say yes." She folded her arms and gave him a piercing, accusing look.

Gideon fell to his knees. "Pleeeeaaase?" he said to Jenny, who was, more often than not, a friend.

She burst into laughter.

Wrinkling his nose, he sprang to his feet. "Oh, come on, I'm suffering here, and I promise, kid, you'll have lots and lots of fun, not to mention you'll be saving my ski-"

"Sure," she said calmly.

He froze, then jerked into a double take. "You serious? Never mind, 'cause you'll just make that a bad joke, and anyway I'm not giving you a chance to change-"

"We're really, really late," she said impatiently.

He rapidly shoved the desk away from the door, than gallantly opened it for the ladies. "Oh," he remembered, "does Evans want a date?"

Icily glaring, Lily answered, "No, she most certainly does not."

"Yes!" said James, pumping a fist, from where he was listening outside the door, ear pressed up against it. As Gideon swung it open, he and Peter came tumbling in.

Straightening his glasses, he stayed on the floor. "You knocked Sirius out," he told Gideon accusingly.

"I what? Black?" Gideon said, startled. The girls escaped quietly.

"He's still out. Remus is trying to wake him up, since the nurse doesn't like him much after the whole tryouts incident, which was really kinda his fault, which he's all too proud to admit," James explained, eyes trailing after Evans. "Hey, and where do you get off? Those are our girls!" he said indignantly, springing up.

"They are?" Peter wondered.

"Technically," James said definitely.

Gideon hid a smile. "You go on believing that, Potter. Go ahead. But, see, Jenny's my friend, and I'm taking her to the ball, which you can't attend to begin with. As you'll quickly learn, a girl being in your year and your house doesn't mean a damned thing, and if you refer to them in the possesive, all you'll get is wacked over the head by their dragon skin hand bags. And the only thing you're worried about is that Evans might have said yes to me or somebody else, am I right?"

James glared at him sullenly, then deflated. "It's not obvious, is it?" he said frantically.

"As plain as the pointy nose on your face," Gideon said, then whistling merrily, began to trip away, kicking up his heels.

"My nose isn't pointy!" James yelled after him. He frowned. "If he can go to the ball, I'm going."

"We can't," Peter pointed out.

"We're crashing it," he said decidedly.

"Oh, c'mon, _Ennervate_!" Remus was shouting with exasperation, aiming his wand at Sirius' head, which had a steadily growing bump. "_Abrete. Levantarus. Dissendium! Vi-_" He stopped dead as the statue behind Sirius' prone form slid open. "Well, this is an interesting development," he commented, as James let out a whoop as he approached.

"I'll explore," James declared, "and you get him to Pomfry; Peter, explain to Vonn Donn and strongly implicate Gideon Prewett."

"Pomfry might poison him," Remus pointed out, "or at least give him the worst possible tasting stuff, since he's indirectly responsible for the severe injury of, what, ten, twelve potential Quidditch players."

James waved the threat to his best friend off. "He can stomach eight glasses of my mother's eggnog, he can survive anything. He'll live." He darted into the darkness of the passageway, lighting his wand as he did so.

"Frankly, I'm amazed he's unconscious," Remus muttered, closing the open passageway behind him. "Head like a rock."

"Yes, but this actually is rock," said Peter nervously, shifting from foot to foot as he considered what Vonn Donn might do to him.

"You do have a point," Remus mused, as he swished his wand casually and let Sirius float behind him, not noticing as he bumped into several trophies and suits of armor along the way. "Unusual. Statues are typically marble or something. That one's just plain, ordinary rock. And old. I wonder if it was purposely designed by the found-"

"Bloody friggin' hell!" Sirius shouted, as he came to, running directly into a suit of armor, and dropping to the ground as Remus lost concentration. He glowered.

"Good morning, sunshine," Remus said, cheerful under the force of intensity coming from his friend.

Groggily, Sirius rose unsteadily to his feet. "What-- hit--me?" he said jerkily, eyes unfocused.

"Gideon Prewett-"

"He--is--dead."

"O-kay."

""""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""""""

"Shhh," James hissed, as Peter stumbled into a wall, Sirius having jostled him. Four boys under the Invisibility Cloak was a very tight fit.

"We look like idiots," Remus hissed, terribly annoyed. The full moon of February was quickly approaching, specifically the Ice Moon, as each full moon had an ascribed title which could affect the brewing of potions and certain spells. He needed to insure Sirius (the only other Marauder beside him who was even slightly competent with Potions- James usually ended up blowing things up) was capable of mixing the primary base. Since the potion required many stages and many months, it would be years before it was complete, not to mention the complex Transfiguration required in addition. If they missed the chance now, they'd have to wait a whole year before they could attempt this stage again. Sirius needed to practice. Instead, they were playing dress-up and gallivanting off to this… this...

"We look fine," huffed James, adjusting his neatened and pinned Quidditch robe, which he felt looked like red dress robes. Remus, in the cleanest black robes he owned, with fairy dust applied by James making them look sparkling, was grateful for the momentary cover of the Invisibility Cloak. Sirius actually owned dress robes, but they were rainbow colored from when he'd delightfully attacked the clothes his mother had given him after receiving new ones from the Potters. He stared determinedly at the ground. Peter'd written to his mother for dress robes, but she'd merely sent him an old pair of his father's, which had once been green but were now puce, not to mention far too long. They dragged on the ground behind him like a rather obnoxious train of a wedding dress that had been passed through a few too many generations.

"Why are we doing this again?" Sirius moaned.

James glared. "We're the Marauders, it's what we do. We're not supposed to go to the Forbidden Forest, what do we do? Go to the Forest. Only third years and up can go to Hogsmeade, eh? Well, we go to Hogsmeade whenever we damn well feel like it. Fourth years and up and their dates are the only ones to go to this dance? Nuh-uh. We're going." The dance was, of course, nearly over, and it would seem to be safer to be going at this time than earlier, when the teachers would be more on guard.

"Who's there?" said the Fat Lady, jumpy from the number of times something unseen but heard exited through her portrait hole.

Quietly, the Marauders slipped out into the hall, shutting the door gently behind them. They began to canter down to the Great Hall, the noise and music from the ongoing party perking up their spirits.

The decorations of red and white hung everywhere, and floating heart candles bobbed throughout the hall. Tables pouring over with butterbeer and Fizzy Floats were pushed to the corners, along with newly arrived goblets. Pastries and cakes were plentiful. James and Sirius exchanged hungry looks. They ducked into a corner, and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. They winced at the sight of each other under the lights.

"All right. Enter, Mingle, Dodge, Attack, Leave, and remember, try to have fun doing so," James said, beaming and rubbing his hands together.

"Don't stay still long enough to let anyone recognize you," Remus added, "we don't have time for any detentions these days."

"Shucks," Sirius grumbled. There went all hope of his record.

"Peter?" James gestured. The shortest Marauder shot them desperate looks, which went unheeded as they steered him into the mix. Pushed among the crowd, he weaved, ducking from where Flitwick was dancing with Sprout and where McGonagall stood frowning.

A young witch was singing on stage, someone Peter had never heard of before. The banner above her read Celestina Warbeck. Hmm. She was all right, a bit too much crooning, and she clearly had nothing on the Chime-aras or the Sirens, in his opinion.

He watched Sirius sidle up to a few older girls and begin questioning them politely. He wondered what he was talking about.

Remus, with a sour expression, was pouring their mix into the punch bowl over on the right. Peter remembered his mission, reached for the little packet, and headed over to the butterbeer. James was handling the teacher's chairs. He looked a little confused as he counted them, and realized several teachers, including Dumbledore, hadn't attended. He shrugged, mildly disappointed Vonn Donn was absent, and began applying the Inflation Spell to the seats.

Peter carefully ducked to avoid teachers and older students who might recognize him, even resorting to crawling under a table when caught between Philips dancing with tall, smiling Pelleon Patil, who kept casting anxious glances over to where his blonde date was being twirled about by Prewett, and an annoyed McGonagall.

Sirius, after a few minutes of casual questioning, had found who he was looking for. He grinned at the pretty girl with curly dark hair who looked rather peeved herself. "Hey, you're Gideon Prewett's girlfriend, aren't you?"

The girl flicked her glance over him. "Yes," she answered curtly, clearly wondering who was desperate enough to bring a second year boy to the dance.

"I'm a friend of Philips', you see, and I know she thought it was awful nice of you not to mind that Gideon brought her. Seeing as she couldn't have attended otherwise, and all, and especially knowing how much he liked you, it was awful nice of him to," Sirius said sweetly.

"Yes, he is a nice guy, isn't he," Hestia said, smiling slightly.

"If you say so," Black said, eyes wide and innocent. "Gee, it was awful nice to meet you, Kitty," he told her, beginning to traipse away.

"Nice to m- wait, what?!" Jones said, shocked.

"You aren't Kitty O'Malley?" Sirius asked, sounding perfectly confused. He'd had to pay Mundungus Fletcher quite a few Sickles for this information, and he was using it for revenge on Prewett's carelessness. Nobody knocked out Sirius Black, not in duels, not on the Quidditch field, not anywhere. There had to be repercussions.

"No, I'm Hestia Jones." She pointed out a tall brunette with medium brown hair, laughing and dancing with Frank Longbottom at the moment. "She's Kitty."

"Hest- Oops," Sirius said quietly, with an effort making his eyes even wider. He ducked his head sheepishly. "Gotta go!"

Hestia looked after him curiously, then turned her gaze, slightly suspiciously, to Prewett, now whispering in the ear of a dark-haired Hufflepuff. She quickly headed for her friend.

Sirius smirked to himself as he disappeared into the crowd. Those were nice girls Gideon had been fooling, and now he'd have to pay the piper. He shook his head mockingly. Fourteen was too young to be dating anyway, tsk, tsk, tsk. He almost felt sorry for the poor chap.

He wheeled into a double take when he noticed James and who he was talking to. He hustled over. "Evans?" he said, shocked, then paused as he watched the argument bouncing between the girl and his friend.

"You shouldn't be down here," she was scolding James. "I'm going to ge-"

"You're not supposed to be down here eit-"

"Don't be silly, I was just chasing the cat, it went out the open portrait door, and how did you get out without me seeing you anyw-"

"You're still down here without permission, now stop making a scene, we've got to ming-"

"I am not making a scene, and even if I am-"

"Shh, if we get caught we're in just as much trouble, and I just bet you used that cat to follow us-"

"You're going to lose points for Gryffindor-"

"Will both of you shut up?" Sirius asked politely, rubbing his head. "James, is the mischief managed or not?"

"Managed," he answered at once.

"Then let's go-" Sirius began to hiss, then froze as he noticed that the mouths of those drinking the Fizzy Floats had, ironically, actually begun to heavily foam, to the horror of the drinkers. Even putting their glasses down seemed to have no effect on stopping the foam. "James, you put too much in the packets," Sirius groaned, "it wasn't supposed to start for another hour."

Remus, still by the drink table, was horrified at the immediate effect of the powder he'd put in, and began to hustle over, realizing escape was their only hope. As those drinking butterbeer began to put their glasses down, worried, Peter began to edge away, his efforts useless now that the prank was revealed.

McGonagall, leaving the nearer Flitwick and Sprout to sort out the foam which was now beginning to cover the floor with bubbles, clapped her hand to her head as she sat down. A loud release of air from the seat echoed throughout the room. She looked horrified and instantly turned her sharp glare throughout the room.

Philips spotted Peter, and followed him puzzledly over to where her friend, holding her cat, and the Marauders stood. "What's going on?" she asked cluelessly. "Why are you here and what did you do, and for heavens sake, can't you leave well enough-"

Gideon thudded to the floor, his hand to his eye, as he was socked by two girls at once, their friends glaring at him as well. O'Malley went so far as to kick him while he was down (literally), Hestia, having left a bruise, content to shake her head at him and go. The redhead he'd been dancing with went back to take the floor with Podmore, now without a partner since Philips had left.

"Well, he probably did deserve that," Philips sighed, Lily shaking her head as she knew that despite all, Jenny had a hopeless crush on Prewett, who seemed to have decided she was his new little sister.

"Oh, no," James moaned, as he noticed that between the exit and them were several older, large Slytherins dancing with their dates. And with Evans around, he couldn't retrieve the Invisibility Cloak, which he'd stuffed in a glowing, decorative potted bush. "Mingle, quickly, mingle!"

"But I'm a glowing rainbow!" Sirius wailed, waving his arms and demonstrating the variety of whites, oranges, blues, especially greens, and various other colors on his robes.

Philips stifled a laugh.

"You couldn't have gotten past me in that," Evans said with a critical tone, green eyes glinting like gems. "I know you've been getting about unseen!" The cat, which she'd used to track them, and which had been hoping for more treats from Black, yowled agreement from her arms.

"Ditch the traitorous cat," Sirius hissed, "and spread out quick, together we're far too-" He stopped, gulping. "Obvious a target. Hello, Professor Vonn Donn"

Menacingly, the tall, beaky-nosed man leaned down on his walking stick. "Well, well, well. I don't suppose you're supposed to be here, are you?" With what was almost a leer, he beckoned Minerva McGonagall over. The second years cringed as she stalked over.

She looked almost pained, and hardly surprised, until she noticed Lily. "Miss Evans!" she said, shocked. "What are you doing out of Gryffindor house?"

"I was trying to catch them, Professor, because I knew they were sneaking out," she said desperately, holding up Excalibur as if he were a shield. He cowered, having met McGonagall in a different form and greatly fearing her.

"Yet you did not come to me, and I'm afraid, however noble your intentions may have been," McGonagall said with pursed lips, "that in the process you, too, 'snuck out' and attended an event not given to younger students to attend as well."

Lily looked horrified. "Are you going to give me detention?"

"No, but five points we'll have to be taken from-"

"A measly five points!" James exploded. "That's it?"

Remus elbowed him, hard, and Evans shot him a withering stare.

"And Miss Philips," McGonagall said, "I'm equally disappointed in the company you are keeping-"

"Gideon Prewett invited me, I'm allowed to be here, ask anyone," she blurted out immediately.

"Hardly an improvement in company," McGonagall said sternly, then waved her off. She hurried off, flashing an apologetic look at Lily.

"Oh, right, and I'm here with Hestia Jones, go ahead, ask her," Sirius said automatically.

Vonn Donn raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? We'll just check on that, won't we?" Sirius, horrified, was led off by the Defense Professor to where the fourth year Ravenclaw was joking with her friends.

"He's doomed," said Peter quietly, ignoring McGonagall's lecture as she sent Evans upstairs and turned on Potter. He and Remus watched in amazement as Hestia smiled and patted Sirius' head, leading a dazed Black away. He had time to shoot a triumphant smirk at Vonn Donn while all of Hestia's friends began to cluster around him and gush about how sweet he was. Gideon, leaning on Jenny as he staggered about, shot him a dirty look. Sirius waggled his eyebrows at him as he chatted with the girls, some of whom were sixth years.

Vonn Donn, even more confused, went over to the teacher's table with a disgusted groan. James watched eagerly as he sat down. Even McGonagall coughed to disguise a laugh as the noise from the seat erupted throughout the hall. Foam poured out yet more quickly as the victims of the drink laughed.

As the laughter began to die down and Vonn Donn stomped to a corner, grumbling, McGonagall turned back to the remaining three Marauders. "Ah-hem. As I was saying-"

The clock struck midnight, and Remus yawned, failing in trying to hold it back. McGonagall, unable to speak over the sound coming from the West, or Clock Tower, paused momentarily. And then, on the twelfth ring, something truly dreadful happened.

It was felt before it was heard. The strong stones of Hogwarts itself, in place for centuries, shook uncertainly beneath the feet of its students. Many dropped to the ground, covering their heads with their hands. Decorations and floating candles plummeted. The butterbeer rippled in its punch bowls and jumped in the untouched goblets.

Following within mere seconds was the noise. A loud, ear-shattering bang followed by a fluid thwoom seemed to tear through the very walls, as if it were reaching for each and every one of them, invading the safe haven that was Hogwarts. There was a tumbling, thudding sound, and, to those with sharp ears, the crackling of fire.

Peter whimpered from his position on the ground, James, clinging to a wall, leaned towards Remus' ear and yelled to be heard over the dying explosion. "Rem!" he screamed. "Where's it coming from?"

"I-I don't-"

"Guess!" he shouted.

Remus listened hard, the directions of Hogwarts imprinted firmly in his mind, and from the distance of the noise, coming down from above like hellfire, there was truly only one option. He said it at first too quietly, so that James strained to hear. "- ight be wrong," he caught faintly, "but I...lery!"

The noise faded to that of a background tumbling, and a roaring of fire. The room seemed to right itself, and grow steady once more.

"The Owlery!" yelled Remus, loud enough for McGonagall to hear. Her hand went to her throat as she knew Remus' ears, slightly more sharp than ordinary humans, one of the few benefits of being a werewolf, were unlikely to be mistaken.

She held onto her hat tightly, as she called over the sudden bustle, "Children! You will stay here until the problem is determined. Prefects, take charge. Heads of houses, return to your own house and evacuate them to the Great Hall immediatly. Other teachers, follow me up to the Owlery at once."

For a few brief moments, every one went utterly silent as the teachers filed out. James, slumped against the wall, slid down to the floor; Sirius shoved everyone out of his way to insure his friends were okay. No one really seemed hurt, except for a few students beaned by fallen decorations, and Fabian Prewett, whose hair had been set on fire by a fallen candle. Most students, shaken, took a seat wherever they could find one. Shouts and panicked sounds came from upstairs, and one prefect went to fish anyone he could find out of broom closets. Hundreds of students sat, making only sounds of rapid breathing and squeaking chairs.

"The Owlery?" said the small voice of a third year Hufflepuff, here as an older student's date, at last breaking the chilling hush.

"Aristotle?" questioned one boy softly to himself.

A flurry of names were suddenly called out, from Archimedes to Zephyr, others quietly saying nothing at all. Several were unspeakably glad they'd sent their owls off on delivery, others uncertain whether their owls had been there or not, and plenty of students glad they'd opted for the toad.

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Sirius quietly, his shadowed, hollow eyes and gaunt, darkened face in sharp contrast with his gleaming hair and even brighter robes.

"Who could do this?" James said, practically in tears in his disbelief. "How could Dumbledore let this happen? Y-y-you're sure?"

"It's either the Owlery or something very, very near it," Remus said extremely quietly.

The four froze, and found themselves, to their regret, desperately hoping it was the Owlery, since the Ravenclaw dormitory was exactly underneath it, one floor down.

"I-I'm eighty percent sure it's the Owlery," Remus added hesitantly.

"I'm very glad I have a rat," Peter said softly.

A shaken Hufflepuff seventh year stood up, arms spread wide. His wavy blond hair looked rather floppy and defeated, but he gave a beaming smile. "Well, we should be thankful. _I'm_ okay, oh, and you're all okay-"

He was shouted down, and ducked back down upon being pelted with anything at hand. "Really," he said, annoyed, then resumed comforting a crying, very pretty girl.

Fabian Prewett let out a shout and socked a Slytherin of his year in the nose, seething with rage. "How dare you!" he shouted, shaking. "How dare you imply I had anything, anything to do with this, this!" Andromeda had to pull him down.

"How could Dumbledore let this happen?" James repeated.

"The man is not a god," came a sharp voice from behind them, as Philips plopped down next to Remus. "He's human. He doesn't let things happen, and he isn't omnipotent, and he's not as brilliant as you all think he is, though Godric knows he is brilliant. And besides, he's not even here."

"What?" James gaped, glasses falling off.

"Oh, do keep it down," she said, tossing her hair out of her face. "I'm rather amazed you didn't figure it out, y'know. He's been gone since Christmas."

James' mouth closed, then opened again in wonder as he fumbled to replace his glasses. "But he doesn't always come to dinner... I just thought..."

"Oh, boy," said Peter nervously.

"Where is he, then?" Remus asked keenly.

Her blue eyes looked worried. "I don't know. I just know he went after-" She paused, figuring she shouldn't say the name with so many people nearby, including Slytherins. "After You-Know-Who," she said quickly.

"Oh, boy," Peter repeated, far more tremble in his voice.

"I pity the fool who did this when Dumbledore comes back," Sirius said darkly.

Jenny shook her head. "He won't. Not until he's found him."

"And beaten him?" James said eagerly.

Philips paused. "I suppose. I don't know if-" She cut off as the occupants of the dormitories, all the younger students who hadn't been at the dance entered in a stream, led by a teary Professor Sprout, who called for the seventh years to help as well. The oldest Prewett began to argue he should go, too, even though he was only a sixth year.

"Beaky!" one first year was sobbing, a third year pulling him along.

Philips immediately darted for Lily and her friends.

"Gone?" said James drearily. "How can he be gone?"

Sirius let out something akin to a growl as Bellatrix entered, smirking. He made to lunge at her, but his friends held him down. "She knew, I know she knew. You can bet your ass she knew. She's got an owl, you better believe he's not a ball of dust and feather. Smarmy Slytherins, a good half of them-"

"They knew," said James, eyes wide. "But they wou- couldn't do something like this. This is Hogwarts. Y-you can't just blow part of it up. C-can you imagine how much spell power that must take? And who arrived late, with plenty of time to set this up?"

"Vonn Donn," breathed Peter.

"There's about as much chance he did it as there is for a snowball in hell," Remus said flatly. "Not him."

James gave him a skeptical look.

"He's been in Dumbledore's trust a long time," Sirius murmured. His eyes lit up. "Hey, how 'bout Filch? Old family, new this year, weird he's working as caretaker- my money's on him."

"Evil enough," James said with a shrug, though the glint in his eye suggested he was still positive it was Vonn Donn.

"Somebody in this school is working for Voldemort," Sirius growled, "and the Slytherins know who."

"The sleeping sickness," said Remus suddenly. "I bet it isn't a sickness. Some kind of Sleeping Draught, or poison."

"The teachers would have figured it out by now if it was," Peter said doubtfully.

The werewolf shook his head. "Nope. No Potions master, Dumbledore's distracted, we've seen for ourselves how incompetent Vonn Donn and Sprout are at filling in. And Henson as much as admitted to James and I she wasn't properly qualified in the first place."

"Oh, swell," said Sirius softly. "But what kind of sleeping spell only affects those with Muggle blood?"

Remus shrugged helplessly, and nervously. "But this means- whoever it is- they aren't gone. They might start up again."

It wasn't cold, but they shivered anyways.

For a long time, they simply sat together, then James finally spoke up. "Evans is Muggle born, isn't she?"

They stared at him, the answer being obvious.

He nodded to himself quite seriously. "I reckon I should be a bit nicer to her then."

Quietly, they almost laughed, and resumed conversation, a lighter one, returning to the subject of Animagi, James taking an opportunity to snatch back his Invisibility Cloak from its hiding place.

After quite a while, McGonagall came back into the Great Hall, and announced that the fire in the Owlery had been put out, though it was in wreckage. A few owls had survived, injured, and they were being taken to St. Mungo's by Professor Sprout, whether the Healers liked it or not. Descriptions of each owl known to be surviving would be posted in the morning, and she offered a hope to those whose owls were not known to have survived that they may have escaped through one of the multiple windows. She didn't think it kind to add the windows had been closed. She offered her deepest sorrow and promised the culprit would be caught as soon as possible, not mentioning the lack of either physical or magical evidence. Hopefully, she assured them, things would quickly return to normal. Notably, she also did not mention the absence of Albus Dumbledore, though those quick of mind could easily see that not only would the culprit probably be within the castle, but that if McGonagall was the one offering condolences, Dumbledore wouldn't be seen anytime soon.

Most students didn't have owls, so the majority of the school was not personally affected, though the shock hit everyone. Many of the Slytherins, who walked about wearing smirks, seemed all too obviously not to have lost their owls, but not even Bellatrix's wretched bird made an appearance. Oddly enough, as if they knew the owlery had been destroyed, no mail arrived at lunchtime. It was strange, the only owl in the school being Vonn Donn's half-dead bird, who lived in his offices. For a few days, both students and teachers seemed to be in a daze, except perhaps Binns. And then the worse came. The condition of the sleepers in the hospital ward was basically the same, except the first Hufflepuff girl who had fallen to it had worsened. Her sleep was no longer comatose but fitful, and while at first this seemed to offer hope, Madam Pomfry quickly confirmed the contrary. Her worsening condition was an absolute secret, so of course, the whole school knew.

The Marauders worried about this, of course, especially Remus, but not like they should have. The Ice Moon and the Quidditch match of Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff fell on the same day, meaning Remus would miss the match. James and Sirius were terribly disappointed, but also extremely busy. Bell, who'd lost his owl, was throwing himself into the game, and they couldn't disappoint him. Not to mention becoming Animagi was constantly on their minds, particularly with this major step into beginning the actual Proteas Potion, required to perform the transfiguration itself and which made it a permanent part of the person, as well as preserving the person's own mind in face of animal instincts. Besides, they'd noticed Evans whispering in corners with her dormmates and figured she was working on something.

They did break into Filch's office, looking for incriminating evidence while taking back their confiscated goods. They found only lots of cleaning supplies and rudimentary notes on passageways, which told them what he had and hadn't found. Many of the cleaning supplies, to their surprise, seemed actually rather useless, as several had the same effect as some basic Scouring Charms. They also attempted to get into Vonn Donn's, but found the wards remarkably powerful, which implied to James he had something to hide.

Ultimately, they just sort of let things slide back into the normal routine. Of course, nothing seemed normal when they had double Defense Against the Dark Arts, since Sprout intended to stay in London for a week or two until the owls there were fully healed, as McGonagall announced, reading her letter on their improvement, which included a message sending luck to Hufflepuff against Gryffindor ("They'll need it," Bell said gruffly).

The full moon rolled around again. Remus dearly would have loved to stay for the match, but all too often they went late, and it looked odd if he left in the middle of the day for his 'visit to his ill mother' instead of the morning.

He picked up his empty suitcase, which he carried as part of his cover story. "Remember, Sirius, you only add the lacewings when the moon is at his peak, or it's useless, no matter how cleanly you slice the caterpillars."

He nodded, twirling his Beater club absently, clearly imagining heroic feats on his broom and not listening to a word Remus was saying.

Peter, taking notes, leaned forward. "How do we know when it's at its peak?"

Remus sighed. Was he the only one who paid any attention in Astronomy? "Listen for a lot of howling."

"Howling. Gotcha," said Sirius automatically, having been parroting back some of Remus' words so as to give the impression of listening.

"Wear dragon hide gloves with the glowing mushrooms, they're radioactive," Remus added, "and do try to be careful with the Chimaera egg shards, you've already shattered three and they were expensive."

"Yep," Sirius said sagely, "expensive."

James, sighing and sleeping, yanked Sirius' Beater club from him and hit him on the head.

"Yow!" Black complained. "I'm listening, I swear!"

"No, you weren't, but I was, and you cut things straight, so we'll do just fine," James told him, mussing up his own hair.

"Good luck in the game," Remus told them wearily, eyes shadowed. He sagged, beginning to head off.

Peter quickly called, "We promise we'll get it right. I won't screw it up, swear."

"Really, Moony," said Sirius seriously.

"As long as we win, it'll be fine," James said quietly.

Lupin turned. "What was that?" he asked nervously.

"Nothing!" said James quickly. "Bye, Rem, miss ya, have fun being Moony- on second thought, don't have fun, 'cause I'm pretty sure you don't share the same sense of fun as the wolf, but here's hoping it won't be so bad this time!"

Remus Lupin shot his friend a disbelieving look, but smiled anyways, shaking his head, and headed out the door, on his way to the lonely secret passage in the Whomping Willow, to wait for sundown.

When James and Sirius, yawning, made their way down to the pitch, Bell was practically leaping up and down with nervous energy. "You're late! Late! Get in, we're going over plays!"

He grabbed them by the hoods of their robes and dragged them to the locker room, where he had infinite clipboards set up. Knight, with distaste, was examining the stick figure intended to be her. Philips was asleep on a nearby bench, clutching her broom tightly even so. Belby had his eyes open and was nodding, but nevertheless, was equally dead to the world. MacDougal alone stood at attention. Annoyed, Bell banged on the lockers as he entered, waking them up.

"Pay attention," he said with horror. "We have only three hours before the game, and Shacklebolt's team is impossibly good-"

"Ravenclaw killed them," Sirius scoffed, "and they're just a bunch of duffers-"

"Don't say that!" Alex shouted. "Every year someone says it, and they hand our a-"

"Language, Alex," said Knight sweetly.

He sputtered. "Our- our behinds to us on a platter! Kingsley's put together an excellent team, all older and together for several years now. Every single one of them is older than me," he said anxiously. "Most of them are about three times the size of Potter here," he said worriedly, indicating James dismissively. The Seeker looked rather offended. "Black, you may think you're hot stuff, but as good as you might be, at this stage you can't hit at a quarter of the strength Shacklebolt can. Their Chasers move as if they're one. Ravenclaw may be unbeatable, but Hufflepuff's the one that works together like a team- something we're nowhere near mastering yet." He was breathing rather hard.

"Inspirational, Bell," said Sirius dryly.

Celia rolled her eyes. "No one's about to beat Potter to the Snitch, Belby here's strong himself, I'm not going to let 15 or more goals in, and our Chasers our working well together. We have a very good fighting chance."

"Exactly what I was about to say," concluded Alex. "But we can't fail to take them seriously- don't you dare turn that into a joke, Black," he added threateningly as Sirius opened his mouth. "Now, if you would turn your attention to this diagram," he said, with a slight edge of menace, as he picked up his wand and began poking at squiggly chalk lines.

Time did not exactly fly by, but at long last the sound of the crowd filling the stadium could be heard. Merrily, Bell rubbed his hands together. "Now, let's go out there and win one for the Zipper!" he shouted, pumping his broom in the air.

"Who?" Sirius hissed to Belby as they marched onto the field.

"His owl."

"Oh," said Sirius, turning to James. "Wasn't a very good name," he noted.

For February, it was rather sunny, the warm yellow glow splitting through clouds of drizzly grey. The Slytherins booed them as they came out, but Gryffindor house went ecstatic, and Ravenclaw seemed divided. At least no one threw anything at them this time. Banners of red and gold waved over the stadium, as did some of yellow and purple. The Hufflepuff team, marching out from the opposite side of the field, gave the Gryffindor players pause. Most of them were sixth and seventh years, with perhaps one fifth year. They towered over the mostly new Gryffindor team with out fail, and as they lined up and mounted their broomsticks, their eyes practically glowed with perseverance and determination, or at least it seemed to the suddenly nervous Black. Their friendly, good sport smiles made it even worse. Kingsley's white teeth sparkled as he extended a friendly hand to Alex, who took it nervously, hiding his wince at Shacklebolt's unintentional strength.

"Vipertooth," swore Sirius, "we're dead. Catch the Snitch, James."

"Well, obviously," James tutted, as he leaned to speak to his friend. "Do you mean fast?"

"Yes, I mean fast," Sirius growled.

"How fast?"

"Fast as you damn well can."

"Shouldn't have said that," James warned.

"On my whistle... three..two.. one...Pweet!" Hooch blew swiftly. The balls were unleashed, and Sirius shot after an upcoming Bludger, then veered fluidly as Shacklebolt drilled one at James. Coming up swinging in front of it, he was amazed when it failed to follow through, his club sort of bunting it away as he strained to continue his swing against the sheer force of the Bludger. It drifted rather than rocketed away. The second year, supremely worried, shot a glance at the muscular seventh year.

Sweeny, announcing, spoke in rapid tones as the Quaffle shot from hand to hand. "And it's Diggory with the Quaffle, Diggory heading down the field, and he passes to Pickford, Pickford heading to the scoring area, stopped by Bell, who has the Quaffle, passes to MacDougal, stolen by Moran, stolen by Bell, stolen by Diggory, taken by Philips, Philips cornered by Pickford and Diggory, Moran flying toward her in a Parkin's Pincer, she- well, that's interesting, she just dropped it, Bell with the ball, shoots on Milks, who stops it! Milks to Diggory, charging down the field, $#!" she swore, then cringed under McGonagall's piercing glare. "No, don't take the microphone, Professor, I'll be good, promise- er, that was a Bludger shot from Belby, Diggory went into a Sloth Grip Roll to avoid it, very nearly fell off, Quaffle recovered by Pickford but MacDougal has it now- don't know how, but Pickford's in a tailspin, ah, she pulls out of it! Philips to Bell, Bell against Milks, Bell scores!" Danny shouted excitedly. "10 points to Gryffindor- whoa, nice recovery by Milks, but Moran and MacDougal are fighting for the Quaffle, it pops up-" The eyes of everyone in the stadium watched as the Chasers zoomed after it, up to where the Beaters were protecting their Seekers. Shacklebolt, aiming for a Bludger, hit the Quaffle instead, sending it rocketing to the other end of the stadium. "Er, I hope that's legal, Diggory with the Quaffle, heading towards Knight, Knight in a Double Eight Loop, Diggory shooting- no, he's reverse passed to Moran, who scores!- and wait a minute, what- Potter's seen the Snitch! Yes, four minutes in, 10-10, and the Gryffindor Seeker has seen the Snitch! Arnold and Potter are after it!"

Looping round the edges of the stadium, James, with Arnold on his tail, were after the Snitch, moving so quickly it left behind a golden trail to their eyes. James fluidly shot through the streaming, cool February air, up and down as the Snitch traveled, Arnold trying to zig past him when he should have zagged. James turned, quickly, then plummeted as the Snitch headed down, turning into an almost ninety degreee angle dive. Shacklebolt shot two Bludgers after him rapidly, Belby easily stopped one and Sirius redirected the other at Pickford, who'd been about to score. She sort of ducked but it hit her on the shoulder, sending her smashing into the goal post. She slid to the sand below, the Bludger coming back to nearly hit Sirius, who looked at her prone form quite guiltily, but that was the game.

Just before the Snitch it the ground, it pulled even to it, as did James, but Arnold plowed straight into the turf. James, watching the Snitch dart with his darting eyes, leaped off his broom, caught it, and rolled with it, holding it up triumphantly over his head even as he spat a chunk of grass out of his mouth. He also snatched his broom, which had continued heading towards him and seemed about to walk him in the head.

"And the game ends in four and a half minutes! Brilliant catch, but I expect we all feel a little short-changed!" Sweeny shouted. "Gryffindor wins, 160-10, and here's hoping that next game goes a little longer, eh?" A bit more quietly, she added, "You can't fire me, Professor, I'm the best announcer there is, and I'm a seventh year, honestly, give me a break, Minerva- oy, what did I say?"

"Potter, you rotter, you did it again!" yelled Alex with glee, barrelling into him. "Now, just do that against Ravenclaw and we'll be swell!"

"Did I kill Pickford?" Sirius asked nervously, coming in for a landing.

"She didn't connect that hard," Knight assured him, swooping in, "she'll be fine, that's the game- what's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing can be wrong with that kid's arm," Alex said, panicked.

"Little swollen," Sirius answered, dismounting and rubbing it while simultaneously throwing kisses at the crowd, "Shacklebolt hits harrrrd."

"Potter," said Belby, annoyed, "don't catch it that fast, we don't get to play at all-"

"Four and a half minutes the best you can do, James?" Philips said teasingly as she landed.

He frowned severely at her. "I thought it would be nice to give you poor saps at least a chance to play," he said scathingly.

"Don't bicker!" Alex ordered. "We won, be happy, 'cause, y'see, we won!" He looked rather dazed. "We have a chance at the Cup, the Cup, the Cup!"

"Oh, do shut up, shut up, shut up," Sirius told him, equally happily. "Wave at Peter, James, you're the conquering hero- and Philips has a point, four full lousy minutes plus-"

"Why, you little-"

Mild alarm went through the school when Stebbins passed the true rumor that Muggle borns Pickford and Arnold hadn't woken up. Sirius and James found themselves the subjects of dirty looks the remainder of the day, but they simply ignored it, their thoughts on Remus and the importance of beginning the Proteas Potion. They nicked a whole pile of food at lunchtime, as skipping dinner was pretty much a necessity. Locking themselves in the second year boys dormitory, they used James' iron cauldron, since his parents would readily buy him a new one ("Hopefully solid gold," he said happily). The floor of the room and their beds were covered with a thin blanket of strange ingredients, herbs, essential oils, and a pot of water boiling over the lit fire.

Sirius was eyeing a list of uses of herbs, Peter looking over his shoulder, while James read over the instructions in Remus' tidy handwriting. It was suppertime, and night had fallen. Screeches were already coming from the Shrieking Shack. The full moon, not hidden by the thin clouds, shone through the open window, right onto the cauldron

"Pour the water into the cauldron- Sirius, pour the bubbling water into the cauldron!" James ordered, gesturing.

"Aye, aye," he said, grumbling, as he trudged over to get the pot and jerked back, hand burnt. "Owwwww," he wailed, matching Remus' "Owwwwooo" in the distance. He raised his wand, and the pot, sloshing boiling water, bobbed over to the cauldron, where he gestured, dumping it mostly in.

"Peter, start crushing the Chimaera egg shards," James said, gesturing vaguely. "Sprinkle the angelica in, Sir."

"Who's Angelica?" said Sirius, incredibly confused. "Do we have her ashes?"

"It's a herb, part of the protection base of the Proteas Potion- the part we're working on," James hissed. "Honestly, did you liste-"

"When have you known me to listen to anything?" Sirius countered, looking around until he found the bag of the crushed herb, which, embarrassingly, was labeled in his own handwriting, though he couldn't remember doing it. He really hoped he'd been right. He tossed it in, fire flaring up from the water. He stared. "It supposed to do that?"

"Do what?" his friends chorused.

"Oh, nothing."

"Hand him a bezoar, Pete."

"Hey, James, I thought bezoars were made of hair. This looks like an emerald-"

"No! Not that one! I like that one! Throw the red one in! And the ones that are made of hair are like trichinocolorblahblahbezoars, or something like that. Uggh. Where'd you hear of them, anyways?"

"Father has one," Sirius said nonchalantly, dropping the reddish stone in. "Er, James, the reason you're keeping this one wouldn't have to do with the fact that it's kinda the exact color of Evans' eyes, would it?"

"No," James said sullenly.

"Sure you aren't," Sirius said soothingly, as if talking to a deranged, dangerous man. "What next?"

"The shredded acacia- but slowly, please, it's enchanted. Then the glowy stuff- glowing mushrooms- chop 'em up quicker, Pete, and the glowy little pebbles of, er," James squinted at the writing, "moldarite, and-"

"James, can we turn a light on, I think I'm going to cut my finger off," Peter said nervously.

"We can only use the light of the full moon," James said sternly. He flipped through a few pages. "Nah, that's for Halloween and not until- er, uh, Harvest Moon, no, oh, Blood Moon, that sounds loverly. Friday the 13th- oh, okay. Here it is. The shredded Tebo skin, Sirius."

"No, we don't have Tebo skin," Sirius countered.

His hazel eyes widened behind his glasses. "Wait, what?"

Sirius grabbed a certain pile, and began holding little containers, full of premeasured quantities, up. "We have boomslang skin, some Mooncalf hide from Diagon Alley, er, heck, even some Moke skin, but no shredded Tebo skin. You reading that wrong?"

"No, boomslang skin comes next," James said, panicked, "I'm reading it right, I am."

"Okay," Sirius said, unnerved. He considered briefly, then tossed the shredded Moke skin in.

"You can't do that!" said Peter, horrified, as the water, already glowing, turned a silvery green.

"Just did. It's also protective, just in a different way," said Sirius. "We can't kill ourselves, the bezoar sees to that."

"But we could become, like, half man, half bats or something!" Peter panicked.

"Get real. Batman?" Sirius scoffed. "The boomslang skin, now?"

James, wincing, nodded. Sirius often made similar substitutions in Potions, and it usually seemed to work… usually.

Sirius emptied out the bag, letting the shreds fall in.

"Caterpillar bits," tried James. Sirius made a face, and began to drop his carefully sliced caterpillar bits into the pot. It hissed and steamed as they were thrown in, sending little puffs of green across the room.

A loud caterwauling, shouting, and even some crying came from the common room. They exchanged glances.

"Did any of you set up a prank?" James wondered.

"Nah, too busy," Sirius said readily, while Peter shook his head.

"Sure doesn't sound like a victory celebration," James murmured, deciding to check it out. He rolled all the papers back up and tossed the scroll of ingredients to Peter, who missed. James, his Quidditch reflexes excellent, dove for it, but he'd thrown it too well. Sirius, looking up, moved too late. It landed in the potion, where it bobbed and began to melt. Sirius snatched silver tongs and yanked it out. "Salazar," he hissed, looking at the steaming scroll and slightly melting and dripping words. "James, go, check it out. I'll handle this," he said, eyes somber.

"You can?" James said skeptically and guiltily.

"Most of it's still readable." The scroll hissed and dripped. James gave him a skeptical look. Sirius tapped his head. "Plus, I remember it all. And if I don't, I'll improvise."

That sounded considerably deadly. James decided none of this would be mentioned to Remus, since it meant he'd never allow them to take the potion. "Right. I trust you."

"I don't," Peter said quickly, giving the hissing solution a nervous look.

James, hurridly, exited down the stairs in the direction of the noise. The rest of Gryffindor house had come up from dinner, and anxiously, were arguing.

"They can't do this to us!"

"Aren't they going to help?"

"This is ridiculous."

"Does this mean no more homework?"

"Nah, Davy, they'll give us homework up to Armageddon itself."

"Blooming bureaucracy."

"Mumps'll be chased out of office for this."

"Old family, too much support, he probably won't even suffer much of a drop in popularity- if he doesn't go up. And I should know."

"Oh, Merlin, we're all going to die!"

"Do stop being so melodramatic!"

James entered without so much as an acknowledgement. Not that he was terribly disappointed, but he had expected at least a congrats on his excellent performance in the match. He sought out the one person not engaged in an argument. "'Lo, Marlene."

The girl swiveled, alarmed, but relaxed when she saw it was James. "Hello," she said, shy as always.

"Erm, what on earth is going on?" he asked, as he was jostled by someone shoving past.

Her greenish brown eyes wide, she noted, "Oh. You weren't at the feast."

"Right. Clearly. I suppose something happened I should know about?" he said impatiently.

"Arnold and Pickford aren't injured. They have the sleeping sickness," Marlene said in a hush. "And- and Elaine- the Hufflepuff girl who fell asleep first- she's getting worse. McGonagall made an-an announcement tonight. She sent for some Healers from St. Mungo's-"

"That's it? Some Healers are showing up?" James interrupted.

"No!" Marlene answered, eyes flashing ever so slightly. "The Ministry won't let them come. With the latest case, that's over fifteen kids down. An epidemic, technically. We've been placed under quarantine."

James jerked in surprise so hard his glasses fell off. Luckily, he caught them, or they might have been trampled under foot. "Wh-what does that mean? I mean, what's going to happen?"

Marlene bit her lip. "Well, McGonagall tried not to make a big deal out of it, said things would continue as normal. When Callie's older brother started getting a bit overexcited over what this would mean for the Quidditch season, she said nothing would really change. Classes would continue as normal, and Quidditch matches, and dueling club meetings for the older students. It just meant no one could leave Hogwarts, and no one could come. But, it's more than that, really, though I'm not sure if everyone knows that," she said quietly. James, quiet now, waited. Marlene McKinnon was smart, and observant, if often silent, and everyone knew she wanted to be a Healer, since she'd helped fix up more scrapes her friends got than could be counted, as she'd done on the train at the beginning of the year. He'd made a clever choice for who to ask. "It means no firecalls, and they'll probably evacuate Hogsmeade, and letters from home or from here would be blocked. Professor Sprout won't be able to get back, and Remus went to visit his ill mother, didn't he? He won't be able to get back either."

James, horrified, realized what this meant for Remus' cover story. Forgetting entirely about cookies from home, and Easter baskets from his mother, and those products they'd ordered from Zonko's, he focused only on Remus and immediately lying to protect him. Thinking rapidly to get the news started (for Marlene would tell Alice, who would tell everyone) "No, Rem's here. The Knight Bus didn't come, and he couldn't leave. I saw him earlier, he asked me how the game had gone. Last I heard, he was trying to get through to his mom."

"Oh, his poor mom," Marlene said sympathetically. "I bet she's been expecting him and everything. But it's kind of strange, isn't it? Even if we could get an owl through, they're all gone. And with Dumbledore gone..." She let her sentence trail off. "Lily doesn't think it's a sickness at all," she added furtively.

"No, no, Remus' mom is really sick," James added swiftly, his worry still there.

Marlene gave him an odd look. "I'm sure she is. I mean, Lily… thinks someone's poisoning the Muggle borns, or anyone with Muggle blood, because she said Pickford's only half."

"I suppose she thinks it's me," James said gloomily, with a sharp edge.

"No, she said even you aren't quite that rotten," Marlene assured him kindly.

He barely heard her. "Quarantine," James repeated to himself in disbelief. "Can they really do that?"

Marlene looked worried. "They already did. McGonagall wanted to send us home, James. But the Ministry can't risk contagion, if it is a sickness. Most of the wizards in England have some Muggle blood. They... they'd rather have us all die than have it get out, James. And… they're willing to risk that."

Staggered, disbelieving, unable to accept something like this was happening at Hogwarts, James vaguely stumbled up the stairs to return to work on the potion, and to tell his friends of the unbelievable event that had occured, his largest worry how to disguise Remus' condition from the school now that he couldn't claim to be going home, his second being, namely, pretty, Muggle born Lily Evans and a thought that she, annoying as she was, might be next.

It was startling how cheerily normal things seemed. The teachers, starting the next day, made remarkable efforts to perk spirits up, but a gloom had settled over the castle. Flitwick taught the third years all Cheering Charms slightly early, and insisted they practice on everyone, even allowing them to do magic in the hall (Few first years were thrilled to have Macnair pounce on them in the hall, and with a wicked leer and drawing his wand, tell them he was going to 'cheer them up'). McGonagall, for all her classes, turned one student (for the second years, Peter Pettigrew) into a statue and back, not to mention, as a shocker, turning herself into a cat. (Sirius Black fell right out of his chair and spent most of the rest of class repeating to himself 'She's an Animagi, she's an Animagi'). The Arithmancy professor was said to be doing 'fun' problems, the Divination and Astronomy professors predicting good fortune in the future, and Kettleburn decided to do unicorns this week, and centaurs the next (He ventured into the forest himself, returning with three cracked ribs and a skull fracture, then sent Hagrid instead). Herbology classes were altogether cut out of the schedule, and without Sprout, Vonn Donn couldn't manage Potions classes in addition to his own, so those disappeared as well. Other classes were doubled, and extra homework given to keep the students busy. Pomfry nervously fluttered about, Hooch attended all Quidditch practices and offered advice freely, Pinch wanted no grimy, contagious children touching her books. Alone of the staff, Filch and his cat acted exactly the same.

Scariest of all, Vonn Donn spent most of his classes by beginning to teach and then going off on a tangent which would lead, one way or another, to an old war story. Whichever unfortunate class were his current victims would sit bolt upright, eyes wide, as he, leaning on his cane, told often gruesome stories of the fight with Grindewald, including one absolutely awful one when his friend Alastor, then only in his twenties, had lost his leg. Callie Bell had to excuse herself.

By the start of March, Hogsmeade had been temporarily emptied. Using the unbelievable new passage accidentally discovered by Remus, the Marauders went to check and brought back loads of candy from Honeydukes, where, extremely luckily, the passage led (made them wonder if a founder or old headmaster had a sweet tooth). The fact that they gave it out without jinxing it was an alarm in itself. The pranks they began playing after the announcement were, for them, relatively kind, the menacing ones directed only at the Slytherins. The Prewetts stopped robbing indiscriminately and began fiercely going after the Slytherins for all they had.

Quidditch would have been canceled, but as they had to stay in school anyway, McGonagall chose to keep the season going. Entertainment was needed, desperately, especially on the weekends, with Hogsmeade visits conspicuously absent. McGonagall commissioned Flitwick and Vonn Donn to have their dueling club put on a demonstration that first weekend, which made Sirius and James long to be third years, so as to join. Rumor had it she was organizing a wizard chess tournament for the Easter holidays. Such things did not exactly ease the tension, though, as the houses became even more intensely competitive, especially with the Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff match nearing, and the Quidditch Cup Final played after Easter holidays, little more than a month away. Bell and Havok got into a fist fight which escalated into a duel over whose turn it was to practice on the pitch.

Lupin, upon hearing the news of the quarantine, went immediately to McGonagall, who promised Philips, as usual, would have a believable story ready when needed. She was a scarily good liar, particularly since no one anticipated it. As March's full moon drew closer, he hoped everyone would believe whatever bull she told them.

At lunch, when hordes of owls would usually come sweeping in, the isolation was felt the most. Even some of the Slytherins had to miss the care packages from their parents. And their were questions that couldn't be answered. Though Stebbins' petition for finals to be canceled had been shot down, fifth and seventh years were concerned about their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. The exams were sent by the Ministry, and the practical portions held by Ministry officials, who wouldn't be coming. How could they take them? What would happen if the quarantine wasn't lifted by summer? What would happen if the sleepers didn't wake up? With a few seeming fretful and in pain the longer they slept, would it eventually lead to their deaths? Even when not spoken, the questions hung in the air. As normal as things might seem, a tension and fear lay under the surface. Hogwarts, a safe haven, except for the one time in the eighteenth century when several students from the colonies shipped over to attend briefly took over the school before returning home to aid in the revolution, had been violated.

After a few leary days of expecting people to simply keel over, a smarter bunch spread the word that the 'sickness' only struck if one fell asleep first, especially if the 'sleep' came about through more unusual means, such as fainting, or being knocked out, or drifting off when one shouldn't. A few times a week, one or two people depriving themselves of sleep would slump into the 'sickness' during a meal, or simply not wake up in the morning. One week, it didn't happen at all, as if they were being toyed with, while the next day five fell victim.

Fletcher found himself suddenly in demand, as he was rushed by students demanding Pepper-Up Potion, coffee, or both. It didn't help both were rather addicting. He sent the Prewetts to ransack eerily empty Hogsmeade for the goods. Gideon, worried, insisted that Jenny and Lily both be constantly supplied free of charge, an offer only Jenny used, which resulted in her being terribly hyper at practice, especially since she was up all hours of the night anyway reading book upon book Lily threw her way, searching for answers.

The Marauders went about their search in a different manner.

"Moony, find anything?" Sirius hissed at him again.

"Shhh," Remus said, wincing at the loud sound of his friend's voice. The tip of his wand, lit, was cupped in his hand as the two of them moved silently (or tried to) under the Invisibility Cloak.

As Remus went through the trunk, Sirius cast the light of his own wand on the face of the large seventh year on the bed in front of them. He peered through the thin, silky material and gagged. "Ugh. Ugly little bugger, in't? Rem?"

Remus, who had his wand in his mouth so he could work with both hands, managed a faint, exasperated, "Mmm-hmm?"

"I don't think this guy is smart enough to try to get rid of all the Muggle-borns," Sirius said with a touch of contempt.

Lupin picked up a notebook, which was scribbled over with words like, "Die, Mudbloods!" written in crummy handwriting. "Well, he certainly has the motivation," he said, annoyed. "And half-bloods, too, remember," he sharply added to Sirius' statement.

"Yeah, but you're not any more tired than usual, and you're sleeping fine," Sirius said casually.

"I'm tired enough as it is. Why bother compounding it?" Remus whispered blearily. He sighed, quietly. "This is pointless."

"The search or the argument?"

"We're not arguing. And I meant the search," Remus said extremely faintly, tiptoeing to the next trunk.

"Oh, clearly. I still can't believe Narcissa's trunk had no incriminating evidence," Sirius complained, too loudly.

"Who's there?" a voice grunted, as an enormous fellow Sirius recognized as the Slytherin Beater Goyle got out of bed.

The pair stood as if statues, trying not to even breathe. Goyle got up, groping around in his long nightshirt, looking for the source of the noise, coming within inches of the duo, who had hands firmly clamped over their mouths. He sniffed slightly as if he could smell them, then looked rather scared and headed back to bed.

"Run," Sirius mouthed at his friend, and they did.

"This was a disaster," muttered Remus as they flew down the stairs.

"Can we just check Bellatrix's trunk? Please? I know we can nail her," Sirius argued, hoping to find something illegal.

"Unless we find a bottle of the potion labeled, 'To Kill a Mudblood', I'm pretty sure it's useless," Remus hissed back. Portraits of former Slytherins, lining the walls, listened with mild boredom to the invisible, speaking boys thundering out of the common room.

Back at Gryffindor Tower, James was accomplishing something himself. Proudly, he held his hands up, his voice sounding deeper to himself and his arms feeling hairier. "Bear paws, Peter, bear paws! I managed to transfigure my hands into bear paws!"

"Right, I can see," his friend responded, eyeing the claws sprouting from James' no longer human hands, as, during one of the last few nights of the waxing moon of March, he added monkshood to the early stage they'd managed of the Proteas Potion, which, as a rich burgundy, seemed to be as it was meant to be at this time. "Remember the whole reason we're becoming Animagi instead of transfiguring yourself is because with Transfiguration, you get the mind of the animal."

"I've only done my hands, Peter, and I know that," James said scoffingly and rather obnoxiously. "Here, hand me my wand."

"I'm not going anywhere near you," Pettigrew responded hurridly, having heard the anecdote of the man who'd eaten his own son while transfigured into a bear one to many times.

James, annoyed, stooped to try to pick it up, then realized, with bear paws, he was quite unable to hold the wand in any way. No thumbs. He tried grabbing it with his claws, then gave up. "Peter," he said slowly, a little afraid, "get the book."

"Can't you change yourself back?" Peter said with horror. "I- you can't mean me to do it!"

"Hurry," said James, with an urgent tone. "Pete- I'm getting hun-gry."

Sirius and Remus had arrived to find Peter tossing James fish-flavored sweets, and after cackling a bit, and several tries, had fixed him. James, after more thoroughly reading the text, found one was intended, if partially changing, to _not_ do the hands, and if fully changing (never recommended for more than a brief period) to set, into the original spell, a time limit which should 'snap' him back to his original shape after it was exceeded.

March passed in a slow, dreary manner, with an aura of dread hanging over it, allieved only during a come-from-behind win by Hufflepuff against Slytherin two days before the full moon, 280- 120, which brightened the mood of three of the four houses for the rest of the month. By the end, thirty students had fallen asleep, mostly first years and older students, fourteen of the thirty being from Hufflepuff, seven from Ravenclaw, and nine from Gryffindor. Twenty-three were Muggle borns, seven half-bloods. During a feast at the end of the month, a huge blow hit the Marauders, however.

Davy Gudegeon, red-eyed and downing food, began to doze off, while sitting just a few seats down from James. Pomfry, at the Head Table, rushed towards him, as many of the Gryffindors sprang up, unsure if he was simply going to sleep

He seemed actually rather semi-conscious briefly, and muttered, "Cool," before his head slipped down into his porridge. James was horrified, shaking him wildly, before Pomfry gently eased him aside.

Fabian Prewett, during the confusion, eased up to Bell. "We need to talk," he told him quietly. Remus, knowing his friends would find this interesting, listened carefully.

"I'd rather been expecting this," Alex grumbled, and headed off after him.

James, mouth open like a fish, followed Pomfry as she quietly removed Davy from the hall on a summoned stretcher, in disbelief despite it all that anyone he cared about could be affected by this.

It was a scarce few hours later when Potter, visibly shaken, and Black, brooms in tow, marched down to change into their uniforms for Quidditch practice. They froze when they saw Bell, who was pacing frantically and throwing things at the wall. Belby, tranquilly, was bashing a bench to smithereens, Knight and MacDougal were pacing, and Philips laughing in a very scary way, the lack of sleep clearly getting to her, as she grabbed another cup of coffee.

"Er, Alex?" James tried nervously, staring at their ballistic captain.

"It's not fair!" he roared.

"Pardon?" Sirius said calmly.

"We're playing Ravenclaw next week," Belby said sweetly as his fist made lunchmeat of the solid wooden bench, which by now had all four of its legs torn off.

The pair froze, then began jabbering together.

"Come again?"

"Say what?"

"Why?"

"Um, elaborate?"

Knight interrupted, slightly bitterly. "Most Ravenclaws on the team have at least some Muggle blood in them. We wait any longer, we won't have anyone to play- not to mention, by then, we'll be wrecks ourselves. If we want to actually have the game, and have some people to watch it, we'll need to do it before the holidays. It's been cleared with McGonagall. We're nowhere near ready to face them, of course. Prewett's not happy about it, either. Good news is his team hasn't been practicing pretty much at all since the start of January since they were expecting to play in early May, not early April."

She waited patiently for Alex to stop punching the wall, then cleared her throat. "It is, of course, an excellent idea on Prewett's part, which we whole-heartedly agree with- isn't it, Alex?"

"Yes," he said miserably, then hit the wall again. "In a month, we might have had a chance! Maybe! Arggh. Why couldn't this have happened a different year? Why now?" he complained, as he socked the wall again.

"Y'know, mate, that's gonna hurt later," Sirius advised.

Belby, meanwhile, was now beating the bench with its own leg.

"Er, why are you so upset?" James asked him.

"Johnson didn't wake up this morning. And I always wanted to do this," Belby said, adding a cheerful note to his first, miserable statement.

"Can we just practice?" MacDougal said, fighting to hold back a yawn. His grandmother was a Muggle, and he wasn't taking any chances.

Alex snapped back to attention, a vaguely mental look still in his eyes. "Yes. Practice. Practice. Practice. That means now!" he barked, waving his arms toward the field. "Go go go go go!" He herded them out onto the field, practically yanking Sirius along.

"We really shouldn't have spied on Ravenclaw practice last night," Sirius said jerkily, as he changed into his robes.

"Yeah," James agreed unhappily. "Er- did you know they could play like that?" he queried, clutching his broom too tightly.

"Nooo," Sirius answered, looking a bit spooked. "They didn't do that in their other matches. Oh, please, as long as both of them don't play Beater," he said fervently. "One, I can handle. Together? Belby and I don't work together like that, they like read each others minds or something."

"Philips did tell us," James said warily. "I just thought Gideon was exaggerating to her."

Sirius jumped slightly. "And he'll be gunning for me. He hasn't forgiven me yet for that incident at the dance."

"There is that," James agreed.

"Men- and women," Alex barked, "get here, now!" His team assembled around him, bright-eyed, even Philips, who'd taken three Pepper-Up Potions and four cups of coffee this morning. He looked a bit teary eyed as he looked around at them. "Well, here we are, gang," he began, "Gryffindor's first chance at the Quidditch Cup in..." He paused, thinking. "Well, a great many number of years. Let's, please, try not to blow it," he pleaded. Bell strained to get control of himself. "Just play well, Beaters- try to kill the Prewetts- and I mean that quite literally. Chasers- and that includes me- score or die, and Celia- stop everything if you have to throw yourself off your broom to get in front of it," he said sternly. "Potter, stop the other Seeker from catching the Snitch, only catch it if we're more than 250 points up. Understand? Or we win the match, but lose the Cup, and just winning is nothing, 'cause we all know you're better than whoever they throw at you. 250 points up," he thundered.

MacDougal raised a hand. "Is that even possible?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes. Yes, it is," said Alex, and he said it so sternly that they actually almost believed him. "We can't lose. Even the Slytherins'll be rooting for us to beat Ravenclaw, 'cause we didn't humiliate them as much. We may not be prepared yet, or have any qualifications besides winning two matches- ever, and lots and lots of practice, but we have desperation." His eyes, certainly, showed that emotion. "Say it with me- D-E-S-P-E-R-A-T-E. Desperate men- and women," he added hastily, "are dangerous. Let's be dangerous."

"Alex, you're scaring me," MacDougal said nervously.

"Good!" he barked. "Now, we may not win the Cup, but let's not make fools of ourselves out there! Let's kick a-"

"Language, Bell," said Knight, stifling a smile.

He paused, deflated, and sighed deeply. Then he took a deep breath, and bellowed, "Then let's prod buttock!" He stopped. "Happy now?"

"Very."

The mood as they walked onto the pitch was dismal. They were wildly applauded, even by the Ravenclaws who were desperate to see a good game, but holes in the crowd were everywhere. James, feeling far too many people were absent, was relieved to see Evans, looking miserable, stop clapping briefly as he passed. Impulsively, he blew a kiss to her. She pretended to gag. He laughed, happy she was still awake.

Frank Longbottom was sitting with the fourth year girls and the third years. He waved at Belby, looking lonely without Johnson, his good friend.

"Just one question," Philips asked Bell quickly. "Er, if one were to fall asleep in the air and tumble to the ground from, say, a reasonable height, would they die?"

"I suppose that's a possibility."

"Oh, lovely."

Fabian shook with Alex, the two of them seeming to strain to see who could apply the stronger grip until Hooch, her short dark hair blowing in the wind, gently beckoned them to their brooms. Gideon winked at Philips, who made a face at him. He then, in a rather joking fashion, looked in Sirius' direction and swiftly drew a finger across his neck, then dropped his head to the right, lolling as if dead. Black stuck out his tongue at him.

They mounted and faced each other, Hooch, feeling a dark possibility this could be the last match held at Hogwarts if any student were to die of this 'sickness', blowing her whistle to start the match.

"Win!" yelled Alex as they took off.

"Trying," Sirius complained as the Bludgers were released.

Danny Sweeny, a seventh year, announcing her last game after six years, paused briefly before she spoke. Being Muggle-born, she seemed to be thanking the fates she was here for this moment. Then, casting a glance at McGonagall, she hoped she wouldn't expel her, and decided to hell with it, she'd say whatever she liked. "Good afternoon, welcome to this interesting game for the Quidditch cup! It's Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor, the Ravenclaws undefeated since captain Fabian Prewett, and isn't he adorable, came to Hogwarts, and the Gryffindor team, which has recently won some matches for the first time in all my years here under Alex Bell. And it's Jones with the Quaffle- funny, she's lost it, seemed to have thrown it at Prewett's head, that's G., not F. Bell with the Quaffle- boy, he looks drunk, though he's probably not, considering he's glaring at me- oh, don't look at me like that, Professor, oops, McDonald with the Quaffle- now MacDougal, now Philips- well, that was a close call with the goal post, er- ooo! This is interesting."

She was referring to the slamming of Bludgers going on between Gideon and Sirius. Gideon seemed determined to knock Sirius out once more, revenge for the several bruises on his cheek, and Sirius was trying to knock out Ryan, the Seeker Ravenclaw'd grabbed recently during unfortunate changes to their roster. Neither Belby nor Podmore could get anywhere near the Bludgers, and just sort of stopped in midair to watch the two of them, quite far apart on the field, slam both balls back and forth between each other.

Potter and Ryan paused in looking for the Snitch to duck the Bludgers which occasionally came towards them.

Ryan, a third year who'd never played Quidditch before beyond flying on toy broomsticks as a kid and practices, looked terrified. He plastered himself to his broom. James purposely got in the way of the Bludgers to test his reflexes and see if he could dodge in time.

Sirius, laughing, knocked one away, then used a Bludger Backbeat on the other as he swung his club in an arc. As he'd said, he could handle one, for Prewett, though muscular, was no Shacklebolt, nor even himself. Gideon just kind of vaguely grinned, pausing to salute Sirius, who was better, but nowhere near as experienced. The salute might have cost him had he not switched the club to his left hand to knock the heavy ball away.

Belby was getting annoyed, and came up behind Sirius, bringing up his club to hit the Bludger at the same time, to Black's surprise, sending it pelting back at Gideon at a terrifying speed. It would have shattered his club, even magically reinforced as it was. He shot an annoyed look at Podmore, who shrugged, having only taken this position since Murphey, the usual Beater, had been out cold for ages. He was clueless as to the Dopplebeater Defense.

Gideon, with a resigned look, dropped his head to the right, then pelted a less rapid Bludger back. He turned to see where the other Bludger, hit with Belby's intense strength and Sirius' maniacal energy, had gone, and his freckled face paled slightly as he watched it drill his Keeper brother into the goalpost, which stopped the blockade on both sides which had been going on as the Keepers deflected each shot.

Philips bounced the ball through the middle hoop, then, zooming from behind the net, Alex volleyed it over all the hoops and back to the front, where MacDougal scored through the lowest hoop before a doubled over Fabian regained the Quaffle.

"Well, that was a #&$!&#!! of a play!" said Sweeny gleefully, not even caring whether Gryffindor or her house won, or, by this point, even properly reporting in anything but expletives which caused McGonagall to make yet another wild grab for the microphone, which, being magically enhanced and not needing a chord, she was able to run with in any direction. Sweeny nimbly dodged the teacher's grasp.

James had spotted the Snitch lazily circling above the stadium a good fifteen minutes before, and Ryan had finally noticed it as well. He shot up toward it, and James followed, debating how to stop him without breaking the rules. Smiling as an idea came to him, he quickly zoomed in front of him, stopping directly in front. Confused, Jack Ryan tried to dodge around him, but miserably failed. He attempted to zoom up, but James was again in front of him, and he had to brake heavily. Ryan, who thought James was supposed to be getting the Snitch himself, stopped briefly, momentarily puzzled, and took his eye of the Snitch and onto James, in which time the Snitch darted away. James, grinning, went back to make himself a target for the Beaters, especially hapless Podmore, who had no chance of hitting the speedy James.

"Oh, and Knight $#! up!" Sweeny shouted gleefully, as Celia and the Gryffindor Chasers fell for the Porskoff Ploy, allowing McDonald to score.

Bell, rather madly, got hold of the Quaffle, and somewhat unstoppably charged up the field, plowing through Patrick Patil and McDonald. Fabian gave him a somewhat worried look, having the feeling Bell was not about to stop when he reached him.

Podmore, a bit unsure of the rules of Quidditch, especially for a pure-blood wizard, launched a Bludger at the crowd. The crowd dove out of the way. Hooch stopped the game with a blow of her whistle, and stopped the Bludger in midair with her wand. "Bumphing! Penalty shot for Gryffindor."

Podmore, his straw colored hair flapping, paused as he zoomed near Gideon. "Bumphing? That's a word?"

Gideon sighed.

"Mr. Bell? Mr. Bell! Stop at once!" said Madam Hooch, zooming over and looking at him with concern as he had not paused at her whistle. "I believe Mr. MacDougal will take the penalty shot for Gryffindor."

Alex, wordlessly desperate, handed over the ball.

"He's gone batty," Belby hissed to Knight as he zoomed by.

In the crowds, Peter turned to Remus. "Do they have a chance?"

"To win? Sure, James can catch the Snitch right now. The Cup? About, oh, bupkiss," the werewolf said, following play with his sharp grey eyes.

James sent Ryan on multiple wild goose chases, practically tormenting the poor fellow with continuous feints. He kept his own eye on the Snitch as best he could, but he kept losing sight of it and had to wait for it to pop within his vision again.

Sirius grew tired as he watched the Chasers pull play after play. Ravenclaw, in the form of Patrick Patil, attempted a Woollongong Shimmy that was stopped when Bell and MacDougal tackled him at once. For every time F. Prewett stopped an attempt with a Starfish and Stick, Knight managed to just barely knock out of the way. Slowly, with hour upon hour of play, the score rose to 80-30 in favor of Ravenclaw, with everyone except Potter bearing at least one bruise from a Bludger.

"We'll be playing into the night if this keeps up," Sirius muttered to himself.

The Prewetts called a time out. "Can I please catch the Snitch already?" James begged Alex.

"Wait another hour," he pleaded.

Hooch headed over to the Gryffindors after an argument with the Ravenclaw captain which resulted in him whipping out a rule book. She sighed. "A rule's been invoked. I'm allowed to give you the option of switching the position played by any player already on the field."

"What?" Bell gaped, then his face went white. "Oh, no," he said, rather calmly. "Er- we'll keep things as they are."

Hooch, giving them a pitying look, nodded curtly and headed off.

"Find the Snitch now!" Bell ordered.

"Right now? I don't know where it is right now!" James yelped. "Give me, y'know, a few minutes-"

"We won't have a few minutes," Bell said flatly.

Hooch blew her whistle, and the game started again. Jones was in Keeper, Patil in Beater, and the Prewetts had joined McDonald as Chasers. James gulped, and began to scan the skies for the ever-elusive Snitch, which, at the moment, had decided to be more elusive than usual.

Bell was right. Desperate men are dangerous. The Prewetts had the Cup relatively locked, but were not about to give in and be defeated. They'd called in a rule that dated back to Queerditch Marsh, that was outlawed in the professional leagues but never bothered with at Hogwarts. They'd switched positions in the middle of a match. With McDonald, their best Chaser, nearly as good as them, they darted forward, grimly, in a Hawkshead Attacking Formation, their Beaters, on either sides of them, bouncing a Bludger inches before their noses. The Chasers had no choice but to back away, Sirius couldn't get a clear shot besides McDonald's neck, and he couldn't bring himself to take it, knowing it could easily paralyze him. He hesitated.

Patil shot the Bludger directly at Knight, who had to plummet to avoid it, leaving the net wide open. The Chasers spread out. Fabian drilled it into the top net, McDonald, pulling up behind the net, sending it back in a space between the goal post, straight to Gideon, who volleyed it in. McDonald, snatching it, zoomed around to the front of the net, where he smashed it in through the third, lowest hoop, just as Celia Knight reached to stop it. Less than a minute, and they'd racked up thirty points.

The ball was sent to Philips, but Gideon darted in from behind, stealing it from her before she could blink, dodging Bludgers rocketing at him from both Belby and Black, in time to score quickly on a startled Celia once more.

Bell and Fabian slammed into each other, fighting over the returned Quaffle; quietly, McDonald stole it from both of them, easily dipped under a charging MacDougal, made to move to the top hoops, which Celia had covered, then made an amazing downward shot, which had gotten him on the team, through the lowest hoop.

Knight, shaken, recovered the ball; before she knew what hit her, Fabian had plucked it right out of her arms and tossed it in right behind her. He pulled out of the scoring area in time for Gideon to swoop directly through a hoop, an only technically legal move, in time to grab the slowly dropping Quaffle and chuck it high over the hoops to his waiting brother, who tossed it in again. Sweating heavily, having pushed themselves to their absolute limits, they made to grab for it again as James found the Snitch, lurking for a moment just over where McGonagall chased Danny Sweeny for the microphone. He looped after it, pushing with all his speed to make the broom go faster. Suddenly, Ryan, who he'd forgotten all about, accidentally crashed into him as he tried to catch up, and James lost sight of it.

Fabian recovered the ball from MacDougal, using the boy's youth and, comparatively, inexperience and Philips' sudden exhaustion, her adrenaline running out, to their advantage to steal it, with an infuriated Bell unable to lay hand on the ball. He and Gideon charged at the hoops, Bell, determinedly, got in their way, ready to face them down no matter what. Grinning, Gideon threw it way over his head to McDonald, high up above, who plummeted toward the goal before the Gryffindor Chasers knew what was going on.

Diving towards the goal at rapid speed, McDonald hurtled toward the net, Knight getting in the way. Black shot a Bludger at him, unfortunately, Podmore threw himself in the way of it and took the blunt of it to his ribs, doubling over and suspecting a cracked bone even as McDonald scored for the effort. Patil, originally a Beater and as a seventh year used to switching around positions with the Prewetts, easily proved a match for Belby and kept him and a Bludger occupied, leaving Sirius alone and with only one Bludger to work with. Anytime he got close to the Prewetts or McDonald enough to distract them, Patil shot the Bludger at James, and he had to rush to stop it.

Gideon, hair matted with sweat for the first time in a Quidditch game, slammed back and forth with Alex as they zoomed passed the awed crowd. They hit each other too hard, falling into tailspins, Fabian beating Philips to the Quaffle and scoring on an exhausted Celia Knight, McDonald stealing the recovered Quaffle from MacDougal to score in the hoop farthest from the one where Fabian had.

Philips, bravely grabbing the Quaffle right out of Fabian's arms, pelted down the field, McDonald on her heels as Sirius shot a Bludger at him, then raced after hit in order to shoot at him again.

Dusty blond hair sticking to his forehead, freckles and dimples invisible against the red of his face, Gideon appeared out of nowhere in front of her. Intense and moving quickly, searching for Bell to pass too, she barely stopped in time to avoid collision, knowing it could get her a penalty, however technical. Winking, he grabbed it from her before she could dodge. "Them's the breaks!" he called, zipping around Bell on his Nimbus 1000 with 'from your loving Lucius' rubbed out. He passed to Fabian, equally red, who began to fake out an angry Knight. Gideon, rather obnoxiously, blew her a kiss as he flew by.

Potter, chasing the Snitch a good hundred fifty feet above the ground, was terribly annoyed, the Snitch moving up and right every time he tried to reach for it. Not thinking, he pushed himself up, slowly bringing himself up unsteadily onto his feet. He jumped up, catching the Snitch with his left hand, finding, as he came back down, that he'd barely overshot the broomstick. "Ahhhh!" he shouted as he plummeted, Hooch, young and extremely fast, only not in the pros because of a bad, un-healable knee disaster that left her lucky to be walking, even for a witch, shot by on her broomstick in time to catch him a few feet down, then go after his broomstick.

Fabian, not even a second before, had scored. Such a game had not been played at Hogwarts for quite a while. Not sure of the score, though Bell had a sinking suspicion, the crowd held their breath as the points racked up.

"Un-b&$#lievable!" Sweeny yelled. "Surely, never has such a game been played at Hogwa-"

Her voice cut off.

"Not so, Miss Sweeny, Darren O'Hare's team could have given them a run for their money," McGonagall's sharp voice said, faintly caught by the mike, with, surprisingly, some humor. Then the microphone clicked off briefly so no one could hear her yelling.

"Oh, please," Peter begged, watching the scoreboard, though Remus, who'd counted, sat down, disappointed.

Final score: 190 Ravenclaw, 180 Gryffindor. James' amazing catch, to his miserableness, had come milliseconds too late. The Cup, and the match, were Ravenclaws.

Alex Bell said, in a rather dead sort of voice that was blaming himself thoroughly, "Everyone played very, very nicely. We had a very good ga-"

"Killed! Routed! Conquered! Murdered! Humiliated!" James and Sirius wailed.

"Put a sock in it," said Philips grumpily, scowling as the younger Prewett blew kisses from where he and his brother were perched upon the shoulders of the whooping Ravenclaw crowd which had streamed into the pitch. McDonald, grinning whoozily, toppled over, unnoticed.

They headed back to the locker room, a sorrowful bunch, though the Gryffindor crowd, who hadn't seen their team play a quarter so well in years, was leaping up and down.

"You couldn't possibly have played any better! That was brilliant!" Peter yelled at them, not really heard over the crowd.

"Excellent!" Remus shouted at them. "You'll be better than them at their age."

Bell, having heard him, grumbled, "I am their age."

Evans was leaning over the bleachers as well. "Wow!" she said, enthusiastic, "that was really, really amazing! Jenny! I didn't know you could fly like that!" She dampened her enthusiasm somewhat, and reluctantly shouted to Potter, "And that was a flipping fantastic catch, Potter, regardless how swelled it makes your enormous head to hear about it!"

James brightened. "Really? Well, if you think it was decent, than it must have been truly incredible! Hah! Oh, the cleverness of me!"

"Why did I say anything?" she muttered, annoyed with herself, though she, being terrified of heights, couldn't help being impressed by the feats, regardless how much she disliked the one performing them.

"And we still just got 180 points for Gryffindor," James said happily. "We can win the House Cup-"

"Probably not, considering how many points we've lost, but best not to bring that up now," Sirius muttered near his ear.

MacDougal, beaned on the head by a shoe thrown by a Slytherin as they passed, fell to the ground to the surprise of his teammates.

"Wake him up, quick, before he conks out for good!" Bell yelped, removing his arm from where he was consoling the broken-hearted Knight, close to tears and feeling she lost the match.

"Water," Belby rasped, and it was unclear whether he wanted it for his exhausted self or to throw in MacDougal's face.

Fletcher found oodles of Galleons heading in his direction when news got out that some of the latest to fall asleep had a Muggle grandparent, including MacDougal. This made it yet more amazing to Lily Evans she was still awake, as she found, that by the middle of the Easter Holidays, she was one of the few Muggle borns left in the school. She couldn't believe it. She slept normally, stayed awake in classes with Pepper-Up Potion- even History of Magic, avoided anything that could possibly knock her out, and, while Jenny complained of almost a compulsion to fall asleep, as did others, she didn't really feel any different from usual at all. The only thing that seemed different from normal was her lack of contacts with her parents, who, she knew, would have probably only been informed of a magical disease outbreak at Hogwarts. She hoped they weren't too worried.

After spending a lot of time and careful consideration on her electives for next year (Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures- only one of the three would be with Potter, much the better), she'd spent all her spare time and energy on tracking down the person who was responsible for the 'malady' affecting Hogwarts.

She had it pinpointed down to two possible people, and she'd just proved it impossible, through her careful examination of his background, to be the first. As Arthur Conan Doyle wrote, when the impossible was eliminated, only the improbable was left (of course, she'd discovered that only worked when the possible, first, were eliminated.) She was positive she knew who it was, but she had no proof, none whatsoever, and when the teachers were clueless, how likely were they to believe a twelve year old girl with a penchant for Muggle mysteries? With time off from classes, here was her chance to prove it. She hadn't told Jenny yet, though she'd hinted ever so slightly, which had sent her friend into a laughing fit before she headed off to practice chess, excited about it after the little tournament held on a Saturday, which no second years made it past the first round of (Frank Longbottom easily won, defeating everyone but McGonagall, who played against him just to prove she was better. Fabian Prewett swore up and down, however, that his older sister could trounce them both, but mostly everyone ignored him).

Lily, vaguely annoyed, debated how to leave the common room, considering entering Potter's dormitory and trying to find whatever he used to get about the castle before scowling and determining she didn't need it. She was rather exasperated she couldn't enlist her friend's help, but vacation was almost at an end and she needed proof before things got worse.

"Checkmate," Jenny said smarmily, as Potter looked shocked, having just barely lost.

He picked up his king and set him back in position. "Rematch," he demanded, taking off his glasses to rub them clear, this time knowing to take her seriously.

Evans rolled her eyes, not noticing Black doing the exact same thing from where he lounged in front of the fire, as he found chess the most boring game ever devised.

She headed towards the portrait hole, slipping by a bunch of third years playing Gobstones, which seemed to shoot their goo farther than usual by the number of innocent bystanders they were hitting. Her startlingly green eyes flashing as some of the slimy liquid hit the edge of her robe, she headed directly for the Fat Lady's portrait, waiting till no one was looking. That took a while, since Potter was staring in her direction quite intently. Then, pushing open the portrait and mumbling she was going to see McGonagall to the large lady in pink, she silently sidled against the wall, treading on little cat feet to where she needed to go. Trying to catch the Marauders, she'd followed them to the kitchen last year, and now knew where it was. Dodging a few ghosts and pulling her hood up to cover her distinctive red hair, she tried to blend into the shadows as she passed some patrolling prefects.

Darting through the spookily empty Great Hall, she headed in the direction of the dungeons, righted herself when she realized she'd taken a few wrong turns, and eventually found the enormous portrait of the food basket. Rather awkwardly, she reached out to tickle the giant pear, which giggled before shifting to a door handle of the same pale green. Nervously, she swung it open, to be bombarded by house elves. She nearly fell out the open doorway.

"Visitor!" one squealed delightfully.

"Can I get you anything, mistress?" said another, adjusting its Hogwarts tea towel.

"Pastries? Cookies?" a few chorused, presenting over-flowing trays.

"Sweetmeats?"

"Would young mistress like a fruit?"

"Would the mistress like to sample next morning's breakfast?"

Excitedly, a house elf with a round nose squeaked, "Or any of the delightful food from this night's dinner?"

"Don't call me mistress," Lily warned sourly, casting brief thoughts to the unfairness of how certain beings were treated by wizards but knowing how upset Jenny's house elf got if she so much as brought it up. "Why don't you just, er, carry on, and one of you could show me a... " Lily, an awful liar, thought quickly for something idiotic Black would spout out, "a good place to think quietly with a view of the delectable foods cooking on the oven?"

They didn't so much as blink, but instead began to squabble, tripping over each other in their anxiety to find her hiding place for her. A whole group of them pulled her over to where, under one of the sinks overloaded with dirty dishes that were frantically being scrubbed, there (after the house elves emptied all sorts of cleaning supplies on the floor) was a good sized space in which to sit comfortably, with an open knothole in the wood of the cabinet door that gave her an excellent view of the ovens, directly across the way. After assuring them several times she didn't want any food, and to please stop chattering in her direction and demonstrating certain foods, she settled in for a long wait, taking, ever so often, a pleasantly warming Pepper-Up Potion, and desperately wishing for a book, even a schoolbook.

After what seemed like a rather uncomfortable eternity, when she knew the only ones still awake were those desperately drinking coffee or simply too busy to sleep, the door creaked open quietly, and the house elves, still awake and cheery, looked blankly, as if they were used to it, as an unseen person stepped in. Soft footsteps, as if the person were trying to walk quietly, could be heard. Lily, disappointed, hadn't anticipated this. A hand, suddenly shot into thin air as if lifted from under a cloak, clutching a vial, unscrewed a lid easily, and poured the contents into a substance near the stove. The hand was instantly recognizable to Lily, unmistakable even at a slight difference. She knew it! She'd been right. She felt some satisfaction, but also some disappointment, not wanting to have been right.

Fumes rose from the pot where the vial had been poured into, almost immediatly filling the large room. The house elves ran to check on it, and finding nothing wrong, went back to their business.

The hand, which had been slowly drawn back into the robe, seemed gone entirely, and only soft shuffling could be heard.

The fumes reached the cabinet, accompanied by another, familiar scent. Lily's eyes widened desperately as she clamped her slender hands over her nose and mouth, fighting back the sudden sneeze trying to overwhelm her. She pinched her nose tightly, her lungs bursting as she had not taken a breath. Desperately, she had to breathe, and tried to do so as quietly as possible, but, taking in more of the fumes and the scent accompanying it, Lily Evans sneezed despite how tightly she was gripping her nose.

The shuffling stopped, just as it had about receded. There was a brief pause, then a rushing noise, and the cabinet door was yanked open, sending Lily tumbling out.

The house elves looked on, startled.

A voice came from under the Invisibility Cloak, mocking and in dangerous tones Lily hadn't heard from the voice before, not to mention sounding strangely muffled. "If it isn't the Evans girl," it laughed, amused. "Oh, quite funny, this."

"I know who you are," Lily said stubbornly, jutting her chin out. "I actually liked you. Professor," she added, almost mockingly herself. "You'll have to kill me to stop me," she said, with a bravado she didn't feel, but felt made her sound at least as good as any heroine in any book. She looked around. If she called for help, would the house elves understand? The Hufflepuff dormitory was nearby, she knew.

"Oh, no, I don't think so," the voice said, cackling. The house elves, after a brief, confused glance at Lily, shrugged and continued sweeping the floor, washing dishes, and, some, even getting ready to at last go to sleep. "Go ahead. Try to tell whoever you like," the professor said, hand slightly visible as a sweeping gesture was made towards the door.

Lily, green eyes terrified but stubbornly hiding it, looked confused. This wasn't supposed to happen. Awkwardly, she slid away and clambered to her feet.

"I'd hurry if I were you, little Mudblood," the voice said, in an almost friendly way, still muffled, as Lily raced to the portrait door. It sounded almost as if the professor were speaking through a cloth, perhaps tied tightly over the mouth. "You have only moments, after all, before the vapor does my work for me. In fact, that's given me an idea. My thanks to you, Mu-"

By that time, Lily had yanked the door open and was running as fast as she possibly could, thundering for the stairs. She felt her head go fuzzy, and she nearly stumbled, knowing she'd never make it up the seven flights to Gryffindor Tower and McGonagall. She had no Pepper Up Potions left, and Lily doubted they'd do any good. She turned slightly, for she knew the Hufflepuffs entered the Great Hall from here, and that their house must be around here somewhere. She fell to the ground, no longer remembering why she was running, only that she needed someone to find her now. She'd welcome even Potter. For only the second time in her entire life, she opened her mouth, and let out the most blood-curdling scream she could manage. She began to drift off, to find, no idea how much later, that a bust of Hengist of Woodcroft had spun open. The Head of Hufflepuff house being stuck outside school, the friendly faces looking at her were unfamiliar to her, but she thought they'd played against James. Funny thought that, now. They were saying something to her, she tried to make out what the fuzzy fellow with skin the color of rich chocolate was saying to her, or what the extremely handsome one with a strong jaw and brown hair was trying to give her. Some sort of liquid, she thought.

What had she been trying to say again? It was on the tip of her tongue, and she knew it was very important. A few words came to her mind, and she woozily tried to get them out.

"I think she's saying something," Shacklebolt said to Diggory, looking at her worridly.

Her eyelids fluttering over her pretty green eyes, she yawned sleepily, as if talking through a dream, "Chicken juice in the book." She smiled sort of pleasantly, and drifted completely off.

"Er, I'm relatively sure it doesn't mean a thing," Diggory said skeptically. "Jeez, another one."

"I'll get her up to McGonagall," Shacklebolt said quietly, hoisting the young girl up with ease. He gestured to the crowd of curious, awakened Hufflepuffs streaming behind them. "You handle them."

"Oh, great," muttered Amos, not really thinking very much about the girl, just one of the many who'd fallen asleep, or thinking twice about what she'd said.

"Poor kid," said Shacklebolt softly, as he trudged upstairs, holding her limp form with ease as he headed up to Gryffindor Tower.

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"James, calm down!" Sirius barked at his teary friend, who was ferociously pacing his room the next day.

"Calm down?" he repeated, eyes red. "Why should I calm down? I have no intention of calming down, oh no!"

Threateningly, Sirius loomed over him. "Sit down or I'll knock you out."

Glancing at his friend's dark, worried eyes, James sagged against the carpet. "Nothing matters anymore," he said miserably.

"Pranks don't matter?" Peter said skeptically.

"Not if she's not here to get mad about them!" James snapped.

"You're scaring us, James," Remus told him calmly, upset himself.

"Well, admit it, it is fun, when her face gets all red and she starts yelling at how we're hurting people's feelings or whatever nonsense it is this week," his friend insisted.

Sirius grinned. "Okay, yeah, that is fun. But she was Muggle-born, it was bound to happen sooner or later with this lunacy abounding."

"Not to her. It wasn't supposed to happen to her," James said, hazel eyes stormy. He didn't even know quite why he felt like this, and was rather confused about it. He liked Lily, though Merlin knew why. And he loved to tease her or drive her up the wall, but the very thought of someone else teasing her made him furious.

Sobbing drifted over from the girls' dormitory. "Guess they agree," Sirius muttered.

James, suddenly, jumped up and ran out the door. His friends following him, he raced towards the girls' dormitory. In order to prank them, the Marauders had long ago broken the spells that prohibited boys entering, which during the early years weren't particularly well warded. He pounded on the door. "Philips! McKinnon! One of you damned well better let me in or I'll-" He fell slightly forward as it was yanked open.

"What?" Callie Bell hissed dangerously.

He shoved past her roughly. "What was she doing down there, Philips? Why was Lily at the Hufflepuff dormitory?"

"Don't you mean Evans?" Philips said, glaring at him but still slightly surprised by the way he'd refered to her friend. Her blue eyes were even more thoroughly red, and she downed another Pepper-Up Potion. "I don't know, James."

"Look, Philips, you better tell me or I'll-"

"James Potter, I don't know!" she shouted, hurling a pillow at him. He ducked, it hit Remus, who looked annoyed. She threw another for good measure, this one hit its target, and then she considered. "Look, she was asking a lot of hypothetical questions, really silly stuff."

"Like what, specifically?" he demanded.

"I don't remember, I was busy trying to beat you at chess and she kept pulling me aside. I don't remember anything specifically, just like stuff out of murder mysteries. She's been reading a lot of those this year," she told him sullenly.

Sirius was examining Lily's dresser, twirling her hairbrush like a sword until Anderson calmly grabbed it from him. He picked up the book and stared at it. Suddenly, he swooped alongside James, linked elbows with him, although he was facing the opposite way, and shouted, "I'm borrowing this, thanks very much," over James' protests.

Remus closed the door tightly, and the four of them stopped on the stairs of the girl's dormitory.

"She's read this one before," Sirius said, holding it up triumphantly.

"What?" his friends chorused, annoyed.

"She reads fast, and she had this one done months ago, why would she pull it out to read again?" Sirius said, convinced.

Remus snatched it from him. "_And Then There Were None_. Agatha Christie. Muggle author, famous. Not sure they're good for a twelve year old, though- murder stuff. She's supposed to be good, I guess, 'cause it says on the back she was knighted-"

"Knighted? What for?" Sirius wondered.

Remus gave him a look suggesting he had a high level of stupidity. "For writing books-"

"You can be knighted for writing books!" Sirius exploded, disgusted. "Well, that's cheap. And here I was all impressed with Cadogan and Nick mmfffff." He was cut off as James covered his mouth tightly with both hands.

"She might have just wanted to read it again," Remus finished.

"Title suggests otherwise," Peter noted, surprisingly cleverly.

James grabbed the book and slapped it into Sirius' palms. "Read it," he advised. "Look for chicken juice. Go."

He shoved Sirius towards the common room. "Go?" Sirius said, looking rather hurt. He made a whimpering noise.

"Read it!" the other three ordered.

Annoyed, he headed down the stairs to flop near the fireplace and read.

James paced. "Now, it's pretty clear to me Evans had this all figured out. She would have cared from the very beginning, 'cause it was Muggle-borns, like her, getting sick. Dumbledore's gone, Slytherins know what's going on- clearly, this has got Voldemort's finger prints all over it. Someone's working for him, and I think we've established it's not a Slytherin 'cause, frankly, the smartest aren't smart enough. We all know it's not a Gryffindor, and let's just assume it's not a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw."

"Leaves the staff," Remus noted.

"Yeah. It does." James nodded. "And Evans knew, and we might have too, but we've been busy. While we've been prancing around trying to turn into cuddly creatures of the forest- not that there isn't good reason," he added hastily, "she was actually doing something. Lily Evans has been a model student since she stepped off the train, she wouldn't leave the Tower lightly. But we've seen before that her loathing of us has motivated her to do so."

"She was trying to catch us last time, it figures she'd be after someone else this time," Remus said, catching on quick. "I seriously doubt she was after a Hufflepuff, though. The house has the largest percentage of Muggle-borns in the school, unless she was trying to guard it or something. But it's right near the kitchen." His grey eyes met James' hazel. "If someone's messing with the food..."

"The chicken juice," said James solemnly.

Remus sighed. "No such thing- least I hope not," he added with a note of horror. "Chicken's boring," Peter added. "When's the last time the house elves made chicken?"

"Maybe something that taste like chicken," Remus mused. "It's a common Muggle saying, when eating unusual food, that it tastes like chicken."

"Pretty bland world they must live in, if all their food tastes like chicken," said James, with a slight shudder. "You think it's in weird food? But which one?"

They pondered, chins resting on their fists.

Peter chewed his lip. "Well, where would we put it?"

James and Remus both looked at him, startled. "You're brilliant!" yelped James.

"I am?" said Peter, surprised.

"We've been looking at this the wrong way," Remus mused. "We've got to look at this as if it were us. For a huge prank, how would we go about it? To do something really huge, like, er," he paused as he quickly thought of how to throw James into gear and get him to spout out plans, "er, take over the school?"

James' face briefly glowed at the thought, then he sobered, his mischievous mind working quickly. "Slow. We'd recruit, incite Stebbins, bribe the Prewetts, the usual deal. Then take over empty corridors, of course, things no one would notice. Before making a big move, we'd need to make sure Dumbledore was occupied with butterscotch sweets or something, since he's pretty much superhuman, maybe lock him in his office. And we'd have to cut off communication, so we weren't swarmed by Aurors and thrown in Azkaban. Then we'd probably go for Gryffindor house, tie up Evans and Longbottom and the prefects, anyone who'd fight us, y'know."

"Ooh, then we'd make things seem like usual so we could get the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws," Peter added eagerly.

"Yeah, then we'd have to take out the teachers, then get rid of all the Slytherins. Either kick 'em out or make them our slaves, whichever," James said gleefully. He switched tones. "But we'd never do that because that would be wronnngggg," he amended, dragging out the last word.

Remus stared at him in shock, backing away slightly. "James, you're my friend, but you're a little bit spooky sometimes."

"Really?" James said excitedly.

"You just accidently proved someone's trying to take over the school for Lord Voldemort."

"Oh, swell- WHAT?!"

Remus, shivering, ticked off points on his hands. "Recruit- step we missed, somebody got the Slytherin students on their side. Slowly, while nobody really noticed, somebody started knocking out Muggle-borns, the people who'd stand up against Voldemort no matter what if he took over the school since he's been killing Muggles. Like you said, slowly. Next, get rid of Dumbledore, who's dangerous. Using dementors and killing enough Muggles, they lured him out of Hogwarts, then kept things seeming safe for a while to make sure he wouldn't come rushing back. He's after Voldemort, but there's a lot of places to hide in the wizarding world- especially for those who aren't afraid of the dark."

James shivered. "Knock out communication, with the owlery and then making it look like an epidemic- quarantine. Oh, Godric, I think like him," he said in a hush, "I think like-"

"No, you don't," Remus said firmly, "and don't you start thinking that, James Potter. We don't know who made up this plan-"

"Who else? It's brilliant, isn't it?" James snapped. "Rem, take Sirius- make sure he finishes the damnable book- go to the library, and find out what this thing is. We certainly know how to find what we're looking for there after all we've done."

"James, where are you going?" Remus said, worried. "You realize what step logically comes next-"

"Take out the teachers," he said grimly, and Peter gasped. "And this being the last day of Easter holidays, classes resuming again tomorrow, if it was me I'd be doing it right now."

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"And you're sure this is all made up?" Sirius asked Remus for the umpteenth time.

"Fiction! As in, make-believe. She made it up, Sirius, now finish and leave me alone," Remus muttered, wondering what James had been up to for the past two hours.

"I am finished," Sirius told him, looking very spooked. "And you're sure?"

"Yes! Now what's it about?" Remus asked, curious about their only clue.

Sirius looked unnerved, eyes dark. "These ten people who've all committed murders but gotten away with them are called to this mysterious island but their host never shows up, right? And they end up stuck on the island, because there's no communication and the boat doesn't come back. So immediately one of them dies, poisoned, and then another one kicks the bucket- get this- _goes to sleep and never wakes up_. But it turned out that's just since somebody poisoned her in the middle of the night. Er, so there's these ten little Indian figurines, and a poem to match them. It's kinda like the old nursery rhyme, y'know, seven brave Queerditch players went out to play, one got conked by a Bludger and he went away. Six brave Queerditch players went out to play, one fell off his broom and he went away. Five-"

"I get it, go back to the story," Remus told him swiftly, before he continued, since he'd heard the rest of it before and it got rather gruesome.

"Right, so every time one of them gets killed off, their death's a lot like the Indian in the poem. And every time, an Indian figurine disappears. But they search- there's nobody else on the island, which means-" Sirius paused dramatically and lowered his voice, "One of them is the murderer. So everytime they've got it pinned to be somebody, that person's the next victim, so, oops, there's only two left, which means it's got to be one or the other. So they fight for a gonne, which I think is like a wand that only kills, and the one shoots the other and thinks- at last, I'm safe! Yeah, me. But she goes upstairs, and a hanging rope's set up, so she feels guilty and scared and Yaarghh," Sirius said a bit too mirthfully, "A fast drop and a quick stop. But when the people like Aurors show up, well, all ten are dead, but the chair the girl kicked away has been turned right side up. Someone was still alive after she died. Turns out one of the guys, this judge, enlisted the help of the doctor on the island and faked his own death, let the last two bonk themselves off, bonked _himself _off and," Sirius paused again, "Then there were none."

They paused, rather somberly, and looked at each other. "I think I can see why she pulled it out again," Remus said unhappily.

"I want to know where she got it," Sirius said wonderingly. "I mean, it's a pretty old Muggle book, though not that old, and our library hasn't got 'em."

"What makes you think it isn't hers?" Remus asked curiously.

"Name written in the front. Her dad, maybe?" Sirius wondered, pointing out the relatively unreadable pencil scrawl, most of which had worn away, part of a word near the center, 'Marvo', the only clear phrase.

"Ah-hem," came a voice from behind them.

Already having scared themselves with the very plot of the book, this threw them over the edge. "Aaaaaah!" they shouted, whirling around to see Madam Pince glaring at them, which didn't exactly relax them.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked them coldly, clearly preferring they'd simply leave. Children rarely hung about her library these days, to her relief.

"Er, yes ma'am," Sirius said, recovering quickly. "Rem, what books are we looking for?"

"Er..." Lupin began, freezing up. He recovered when Sirius jabbed him several times under the table, though. "Potions! Right, we don't have potions classes so we're looking for Potions books so we can catch up and won't fall behind for next year. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah, we love studying," Sirius said with heavy sarcasm.

"With the recent sickness at school, we're particularly interested in sleeping spells or anything related to them," Remus added rapidly, stomping on Sirius' foot.

Her lips pursed tightly, Madam Pince gave them rotten looks, then marched over to her card catalog. She muttered something, and drawers flew open, crammed as they were with overflowing cards with multiple book titles on each one. Several cards zipped to her hand. "Find these books, look at what you need, and leave," she demanded, as she marched back and handed them to a shocked Remus.

"We shoulda just done that with Animagi books. Would have saved us a hell of a lot of time," Sirius said unhappily to Remus.

"Shh!" she insisted.

_Spells of Sleep_, by Solomon Nambulus.

_Sleep in Muggle Myths_, by Carys Porter.

_Power of Petrification_, by Medalla Cockatrice

_Ane Accounte of the Dangres of Sleepe_, by Queene Mabe.

_Magical Drafts and Potions_, Arsenius Jigger.

"Bin-go," said Sirius happily, as they moved on to the next card.

"""""""""""""""""(""")"""""""""""""""""""""""""

"But, Professor, he or she's going to come after you!" James wailed as he stood in the rather smoky teacher's lounge, Peter nervously hanging about behind him.

Vonn Donn blew a smoke ring at him and watched, amused, as McGonagall handled things.

"For the last time, Potter, out!" she insisted, wearily rubbing her temples as she backed them out of the door. Auriga, the Astronomy professor, snickered.

She tried to shut the door on him, but James, who'd spent too long trying to find this room, managed to get his hand between the edges. She paused, unwilling to close it on his Snitch nipping hand. "I'll speak to you about this at dinner, how's that, Potter?"

"Good!" he chirped. "Fine! Just, whatever you do, don't eat or drink anything, anything, especially not chicken, or juice of chicken, or gravy that goes on chicken!"

Gently, she slid his arm out of the door. "Goodbye, Potter," she said swiftly, and shut the door on him.

He could be heard on the other side for several minutes, continuing his warnings.

"What did I do to deserve him?" McGonagall wondered, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

"Must admit, the boy has skill on the Quidditch field," Pomfry pointed out, worried about her dozing charges, who she'd been convinced to leave under the watchful care of the Head Girl and Boy to allow her nerve-wracked self an hour's break.

Vonn Donn slowly blew out of his pipe again, easing back into his chair. "Reminds me of Murray. You ever meet Murray, Minerva? Hell of a guy, hell of a Seeker. I was there when Grindewald killed him, y'know, in 1942, and such an illustrious career ahead of him." He seemed about to launch into his story, then noticed the stony glances from his fellow educators. He shifted in his chair. "Well, was crazy as Potter is, anyhow, though a better man. Quidditch. Bloody nutty game, draws all the nuts."

"And why is it you don't play?" Flitwick asked innocently, only to find himself under the force of Vonn Donn's glare.

"I want to live to be old," he growled.

Kettleburn blinked. "Sweet Merlin, man, you already are."

"Do you want to lose the other buttock, Marlin?" Vonn Donn threatened fiercely, glowering.

The others laughed, despite all the problems in the school and their worries, this being their chance to relax. They inhaled a great deal of the smoke, not noticing, with the puffing of Vonn Donn's pipe sending out a rather pleasant, musty scented tobacco, another smoke had also entered the room, until, just before heading to dinner and intending to enjoy their last night before the resumption of classes, each and every one of them dozed off.

"""""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""""""

James drummed his fingers on the table, watching for the teachers to enter for supper, his and Peter's eyes following Filch, who was lurking around the back of the Great Hall.

"James!" Black called, running up to him with Remus, both clutching various books they'd made a run for with, but intended to return later. "I figured it ou-out," he said merrily, almost in a sing song.

Remus rolled his eyes. "No, I did. Listen, James, it's-"

Sirius dramatically flipped open a book. "Have you ever heard of something called the Chamber of Secrets?"

Remus groaned, Peter stared at him. James burst out laughing. "Hah, hah, hah! Oh, jeez, you had me going there for a min- hah, hah, hah!" He was doubled over, and drew stares from those students who'd also wandered in to await supper.

Sirius looked hurt. "Hey, no, really, I'm ser- not joking around. There really is one, and it was opened about thirty years ago when my dad was at scho-"

James burst into hysterics again.

"Fine, don't believe. Wait till the monster eats you all," Sirius huffed. Peter looked slightly worried, but Remus spoke before he could worry too much.

"James, I really did figure it out. It's been right in front of our noses all this time," he said, berating himself. He held up _Magical Drafts and Potions_, the book they used for that class each day in school since its release a few years back. This edition was unused and shiny. He cracked it open and read.

"'Of sleeping drafts, none is more dangerous than that created with the essential ingredient of a sleeping potion, asphodel, in its most potent form. Powdered root of asphodel, combined with an infusion of wormwood-'"

"Create a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death," a voice quoted behind them, quite arrogantly.

"Snivellus," Sirius growled, and might have leaped for him had James not jerked him down.

"What do you want, Snape?" he demanded curtly.

His greasy dark hair hanging into his eyes, he smiled at them, which gave the Marauders a very bad feeling. "Oh, simply to share my expertise. There's very little on it in the book, you'll see, if you continue reading. It's rarely used, these days."

James stood up, looking rather dangerously at the Slytherin. "What do you want, Snape?" he repeated, with far more menace in his tone.

"Pity about the Evans girl, isn't it?" he said conversationally, smirking as he watched James' fists clench. "There's no antidote, you'll find. That's why it's called Living Death. Take too much, and you're as good as dead, but you'll stay that way- forever. No aging whatsoever. I suppose it's one way to cheat Father Time," he said contemptuously.

Remus was now grabbing both James and Sirius by the tails of their shirts, as they looked ready at any moment to dive across the table and snatch him.

"Of course, there are two known cases of recovery," he continued, taking a seat calmly, knowing they couldn't touch him. He knew more than the poor sleeping Potions professor about this stuff. "The sorceress Aurora and the Muggle bitch Bianca. Suppose you know the muddy version, eh, Lupin?"

James and Sirius whirled to look at him. He frowned briefly, then jumped. "Sleeping Beauty and Snow White."

"Seems there's a brain in there after all," Snape sneered.

James looked startled. "What, I'm supposed to kiss Evans? Eww."

Snape gave him a disgusted look. "Made up, Potter, so far from the truth you wouldn't even have the slightest clue. Those weren't pure versions of the potion, you twittering oaf."

"Watch it," Sirius growled.

Snape let his eyebrows raise. "Oh? And why should I?" He looked at him rather menacingly. "Do you think you scare me, Black?"

He drew himself up to his full height. "If you aren't scared, you should be."

Snape laughed insolently. "You annoy me and your very existence bothers me. The pranks you pull are underhanded and cowardly, performed when someone's back is turned." He narrowed his black eyes. "None of you understand the slightest capacity of what I'm capable of."

"I don't want to understand anything about the Dark Arts, Snape," James growled, spitting out his name because they couldn't afford to offend him as long as he was dangling tantalizing bits of information in front of them like dangling meat on a string in front of a kitten, waiting for it to bite so as to pull it away.

"No," Snape said, considerably amused. "You probably wouldn't. Oh, and Lupin? Considering you're so intelligent, tell me, why is the Draught of Living Death only affecting Mudbloods and half-bloods? No answer? I thought as much." He turned to go. "Potter? One last thing," he said smarmily, not even bothering to turn around. "The rules just went and changed on you, and you haven't even realized what game you're playing yet. No one can stop us from using the Dark Arts now, Potter." He tilted his head around and smiled. "Watch your back."

James went white. "The teachers?" he said quietly, worriedly. Both he and Remus let go where they were holding to Sirius' shirt. He sprinted off without thinking.

Snape smirked. "Oh, dear. We are in trouble."

Sirius, as if sprung from a cage, flung himself across the table, grabbing his wand. "Why you little-"

"Diffindo!" Snape snapped, as Sirius yelled, "Expelliarmus!" People turned to look. Sirius caught his opponent's wand, noticing a dark lock drop off his hair.

"Next time it'll be your ear, Black," Snivellus said, voice filled with loathing. "I didn't have to miss. Hand it over." He extended his hand, that he was telling the truth all too plain to Remus and Peter.

"Why should I?" Sirius said darkly, twirling both wands. "I think I'm the one who should be issuing commands here. Who's behind this, Snivellus?"

"The brewer? Ask your cousin, she's the only one who seems to know," he said snidely, then stared suddenly at Sirius with an odd look in his eye, as if he wasn't actually looking at him but through him.

Sirius nearly dropped the wands. "You miserable little goat," he breathed, nearly panting. After a period of staring, both looked away. Sirius pointed both wands at Snape's throat. "Don't you ever try to get inside my head again!" he roared.

"Try?" Snape said cockily. "I'd say I- urggh," he was cut off as Sirius muttered, "_Suffoco_." Snape's eyes widened.

"Don't forget, no teachers means no one to stop me either," Black snarled, eyes dark, as he continued to hold the spell. "You fearful little git, this potion's outing blood. Even I can see that. 'Dirty' blood, no matter how far back. And you're scared to death that the Snape family tree, which was made, what, last week?, won't hold up, aren't you? Well? Aren't you!? So you're here to drop precious little useless hints because you're bloody terrified what'll happen if you actually choose sides! You lou-"

"Young Sirius Black!" a loud voice boomed. Sirius lowered the wands, looking at his hands as if he couldn't believe what he was doing. Snape gasped for air, falling to his knees now that the spell no longer held him up. "Oh, Godric," muttered Sirius, and he let Snape's wand clatter to the ground.

"Well, that was a nasty little spell," said Gideon Prewett, raising his eyebrows as he walked in, ever so often stopping Jenny Philips from falling asleep against the wall as they entered. Hagrid had some extremely black coffee which he'd stopped to get at Prewett's request.

"Oh, great," Snape wheezed, "saved by the bloody half-gi-" Peter stepped on his hand, hard, as he moved the slightly trembling Sirius out of the way.

"I could have killed him," Sirius muttered to Remus, then yet more incredulously, "I could have lost my ear!"

"I was on my way for a cuppa with McGonagall an' the rest when young Prewett there waylaid me," Hagrid commented, looking suddenly large and comforting in the rather empty Great Hall. "What provoked that, young Black?"

Sirius' eyes burned. "He knows how to fix everyone and he won't do it!" More angrily, he added, "And he used Leglimency on me!"

Remus and Peter looked at each other cluelessly.

"Oh?" said Hagrid, his beetle black eyebrows lifting slightly. "And is that true, Mr. Snape?"

"I don't know what he's talking about," Severus said hatefully.

"Wel', that meybe so," Hagrid said, though he gave Sirius a glance that suggested otherwise. "I'm sure McGonagall wi' have word wi' both a ya, though."

A Slytherin girl, watching curiously, let out a little snort.

James entered, head drooping. "They're all out- even Vonn Donn- it's all foggy in there, and I don't feel particularly good myself," he said slightly woozily.

"Vonn Donn's pure blood!" Peter yelped.

"His mother was a Ravenclaw, he's probably got some Muggle-born blood way back," Sirius gauged. "And from the look of it, so might our mate. James, sit. Hagrid, can we have some coffee for him?"

The food took that opportune moment to arrive at the table, along with plenty of students rushing down for supper.

"Hey, guess finals are canceled," Peter said happily, taking a swig of pumpkin juice.

"I'll go ge' the teachers then," Hagrid said worridly.

James gripped his meaty arm quickly, though his whole hand couldn't wrap around half of Hagrid's wrist. "No, don't! We can't lose you, too- you're the only chance we've got at any sort of order."

Philips, rather groggily, said somewhat alertly, "You should probably fetch your pink umbrella, too."

"Don' ye worry 'bout me," Hagrid said, chuckling slightly. "You'll find my type o' blood 'll probably be too rich for thi' sickness' tastes."

They exchanged looks. "Er, Hagrid, somebody's poisoning everybody..." Remus began.

"Really?" said Gideon Prewett. He thought for a second. "Gotta be Filch."

"One'd be 'ard pressed to find a poison that'd work on me," Hagrid said, chuckling. "I'll be righ' back now. I'll be leavin' you in charge, Prewett."

"You're better off with Potter," Gideon called after him, as he lumbered away. "Why does everybody always want to put me in charge?" he complained. "I try to make it clear I'm a fop. I'm not a particularly nice guy. Why do people trust me? Better still, why do they like me?"

James stared at his reflection in his coffee. "Good question. Wretched stuff, this."

"Can I just give up and go to sleep now?" Jenny said, slumping into her chair.

Gideon went rigid, and slapped her. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Don't you dare say that, kid, don't you dare. Don't. You. Dare. You go to sleep now, you give in, for all you know you aren't ever waking up- ever, and I've got enough friends- including pretty much my whole damn Quidditch team- who probably aren't. So if you go to sleep, 'm never gonna forgive you, and you can bet your ass Evans wouldn't either. And you better whack yourself anytime you start drifting off, 'cause I'm not going to lay a hand on you again." He hit the table.

"Who didn't wake up this morning?" Sirius wondered, staring at his upset face.

"Podmore. His great-grandmother- his great-grandmother-" Gideon seethed, "was a Muggle. Other than that, he's a pure-blood as they come. No one even thought twice of it. Blood never lies, though, hmm?" he said with heavy sarcasm.

Philips had her hand to her face, which was red on the left side. "That hurt," she said indignantly, looking more alert than she had all week.

"What do we do now?" Peter said with concern, as he watched the Slytherins pick up their food and leave the hall. He took another bite of steaming, delicious potatoes, than looked at them nervously. "Should we even be eating this?"

"Gotta eat, otherwise we die," Remus told him calmly, buttering a slice of rich bread. Upset by the fact that Snape was right, he didn't know why it was affecting only Muggle borns, he was thinking quickly, replaying the conversation.

"I say we kidnap Bellatrix and torture her," Sirius said bluntly, picking at his food and mushing it violently with his fork.

"I could probably actually manage that," Gideon offered. Philips, shooting him a look, slammed her fist down on his hand, which was about to slip a silver spoon into his robe. He released it, looking at her with surprise. "Oy, we should slap you more often-"

"Peter," Remus said, leaning over to speak to his friend. "Quick, run upstairs. Remember that Muggle studies section we were using when we wanted to see what Muggle tales said about Animagi? Go back there, will you? Find everything you can on magical truth in Muggle fairy tales."

"Done," Peter answered, and raced off.

Remus sat and mused while his friends puzzled out plans. Hagrid clearly didn't fear the potion, probably due to his size. But he'd also guessed from information dropped by Philips in their first meeting, when she kept trying to reassure him, that the big gamekeeper was a half-giant. He hadn't felt more tired at all, lately, if anything, he'd felt more active. He wondered, not daring to say it with Prewett hanging about, if his lycanthropy was protecting him from the Muggle blood from his father. He pondered why this might be.

By the next morning, the school was in chaos. Binns, clueless as to events in the school, was trying to continue classes as usual, to which pretty much only Frank Longbottom attended, until a sleepy Belby and Gideon Prewett frog-marched him out of there. Hagrid was attempting to restore some form of order, but doubtful of his own authority, he didn't really do much besides stop the multiple fights and duels breaking out, particularly between Gryffindors and Slytherins. Some Hufflepuff seventh years planning to be Healers took over Pomfry's care of the sick, following her instructions on how to magically provide nutrition and continue applying the potions and ointments she was experimenting with to find a cure. Filch, cackling, was dragging anyone who came his way doing anything considered trouble-making (he considered simply walking down the hall such) down to the dungeons.

People were suddenly dropping like flies. To her brother's horror, Callie Bell fell asleep on her way up the stairs for bed; Stebbins conked out on a broomstick, that, without rules, he'd taken for a spin around the castle; Celia Knight couldn't be roused from her bed; and neither could a few Slytherins with less than pure blood, to Sirius' dismay not including Snape. Most of those who'd fallen didn't even know they'd had Muggle blood in them. The hospital wing was now so packed that their was no longer any real point in toting them all down there.

"This is lunacy now," Alice Anderson snapped, as the remaining girls helped the Marauders pour over the pile of books Peter had dragged down, now into hours of looking all through the night, into the morning. "We have a madman on our hands. There isn't a wizard alive who doesn't have a drop of Muggle blood in them-" she cut off as Sirius looked up strangely at her. "Well, I suppose there's a few."

"Voldemort isn't mad, I'm sure of that," Remus said quietly. "No, but this is the doing of one of his acolytes. I doubt this was intended to go beyond Muggle-borns. Check this out," he said, spinning a book over to James.

Dropping the others he was going over, James gave his glasses a tap, then examined the picture. It was of a woodcut of a girl swooning as her hand bled freely. "'The foolish Muggle legend of a 'sleeping beauty' may be connected to the medieval sorceress Aurora, an early Ravenclaw graduate of Hogwarts. Apparently poisoned by a student of Salazar Slytherin's who felt she did not have the right to practice magic, she slept as one dead for ten years after what appeared to be a simple faint at the sight of her own blood, giving rise to the presumptuous name of the invented potion as the 'Draught of Living Death'. As far as one can tell, she was awoken through use of the blood of the very animal whose sacrifice had been used to bring the sleep upon her.'" James looked up, startled. "Animal? What animal?"

Remus held his hands out cluelessly.

Sirius snatched the book, gave it a leery look, and handed it to Marlene, who shrugged, yawning.

"All right, what do we do now, fearless leader?" Philips asked James as she sipped her black coffee.

He looked startled. "Why am I the leader?"

"'Cause you wouldn't listen to anybody else we put in charge," Sirius told him, munching on doughnuts fetched by first years eager to help.

James took off his glasses to rub his eyes, and his hazel eyes looked dull and upset. He looked down his thin nose at them. "Whoever's doing this-"

"Cough Filch Cough," said Sirius immediately, nearly choking himself and leading to James glaring at him.

Philips laughed. "You think it's Filch? Hah! He's a Squib, you dopes."

Sirius looked momentarily thrown aback. "Oh, he's an evil Squib then, jealous of all those Muggle-borns who have power well he doesn't," he assured himself, now providing himself with more motivation than 'hates kids'. "No magic don't mean he can't make potions."

"Will you all be quiet for a moment?" James said solemnly, after a pause where he expectantly waited for the absent Lily to chime in and correct Sirius' grammar. He looked around at each of them, then, nervously, he took a sip of pumpkin juice and cleared his throat. "Someone's trying to pave the way for Voldemort. He hasn't done anything big yet, but if he gets Hogwarts? Tha-that's really a bad thought. Hogwarts is always safe, and it's gotta stay that way. But what chance to we have against him? And a bunch of sleeping helpless Muggle-borns in the hands of someone like him?" He shuddered, then flicked his eyes up. "We've got to let Dumbledore know. And we've got to get out of here."

"But we're stuck," Alice pointed out. "The Ministry will stop any firecalls or Floo attempts going through."

James looked bashful. "Right, I haven't really worked out the 'how' part yet."

"Count us in," said a voice, slipping out of the shadows. Fabian Prewett bowed gallantly, then gestured to Andromeda, who'd come in next to Gideon.

"How'd you-"

"You're not the only ones who can get about unseen," Gideon said proudly. "And we don't need an Invis- help."

Fabian cut him off. "Oh, don't glare at me like that, Potter. What, you want us to say sorry for beating you? Well, we're not, so stuff it. And for the record, Longbottom told us the password. We're here to help however we can, since Lupin here seems to know what's up. According to my brother, you have it all figured out. Look at me blush, with deep, deep shame for not bothering to have had the slightest clue."

"This keeps up, we figure it'll be down to us, and Black, and a couple duffers in their jammies from Slytherin, and I must say, I really don't fancy that," the younger Prewett said, gesturing unhappily.

Fabian cast something of a glance at Andromeda. "Well, I do, but she doesn't, so here we are, your less than humble servants."

"Everyone but the Slytherins will probably help you anyway. We're just here to make sure they listen," Andromeda said, smiling at her cousin.

"So, I suppose, Potter, we've-" Gideon began

"Just nominated you as acting headmaster," Fabian finished.

"Don't even joke like that," James said, looking horrified, as he waggled his finger scoldingly at them. The others looked at him, waiting. Shrinking back slightly, he thought quickly. "Remus, start figuring out what we'd need for an antidote however you see fit. Er, Sirius' cousin, older Prewett, gather people willing to help and bring them up to Gryffindor Tower. Here, we can't be touched."

"The Slytherins are jumping anyone who walks down the hall," Fab told Remus as they bolted for the doors. "We better escort you wherever you need to go."

"Potions classroom," Remus answered automatically, "and on second thought, I'll bring Philips."

"Yes. Good- safer in teams of two," James said immediately. He gestured, and Philips sprang to her feet, collecting her caffeine, and joined Remus.

"Alice, Marlene, go down and check on the number of victims. Try to figure out a way to evacuate as many of the sleepers as possible."

"What about an exit?" Alice inquired.

"We got you covered on exits," James said, waving it off. "Just expect to be traveling within narrow spaces." He narrowed his eyes. "Gideon, you take Peter. Sirius, you're with me. Now everybody listen very closely, because we're going to need the help of several..erm..people..."

"""""""""""""""""""""""("""""")"""""""""""""""""""""""

"'Sirius, you go catch an owl.' Oh, yeah, Mr. Seeker, send the _Beater_ to catch a wild owl," Sirius muttered to himself as he pulled the Invisibility Cloak tighter around him, walking through the foreboding Forbidden Forest. "As if I hadn't already done my share today," he grumbled loudly. "Oh, no, and it's gotta be done at dusk-"

"For one intended to be unseen, you move, speak, and smell remarkably loudly," came a sharp voice, accompanied by a sharp something at the base of Sirius' back. "One need not always use eyes to see. What do you want in the forest, human?"

Sirius gulped, since being referred to as 'human' meant whatever was behind him was not. "I'm looking for an owl. We need to get a message to Dumbledore, it's urgent."

The figure behind him shifted uncomfortably, making a clopping noise. "Albus Dumbledore is not within the school? That is not wise. The portents are not promising, and the stars promise danger."

"Right, and if you'll let me go, I'll go get a bird to tell him that," Sirius said swiftly, scared out of his mind but his pride forcing himself not to show it.

The figure shifted, and said uneasily, "You would not thank me for setting you loose in the forest this night." He paused, whispering softly, "Aragog hunts my kind this day- and your kind is, I have heard, of a far sweeter meat."

"Yaaah," Sirius managed, a croak only, wondering what an Aragog was. He pulled the cloak off his head, slowly, so as not to make any sudden movement, making him appear like a head floating gently in midair. "Argh-a-am I y-your prisoner, or, er, you're not planning to eat me, are you?"

A rollicking laugh came from behind him. "No, little human, I am most certainly not." The point withdrew from Sirius' back. "You may turn around, boy."

Quickly, he whirled, finding a centaur, which wasn't a very big surprise. What did give Sirius pause was that his ambusher, though much taller due to his horse half, didn't look very much older than himself in the human torso. Of black and white palamino color, the horse flank drew up seamlessly into human skin, from where what seemed a boy of maybe fifteen with fair, white blonde hair with a dark streak, like a spot, looked down on him with a mix of arrogance and curiosity. He was also holding a very dangerous looking crossbow.

"You're my age!" said Sirius in his shock.

The centaur seemed on the verge of rearing back, and gave him a very angry look with intense blue eyes. "My people are long-lived. I am many years older than you, human child."

"Yeah, but you're a teenager by your people's standards, aren't you," Sirius said rather smugly, not the wisest move when talking to a member of a different species wielding a crossbow.

He stiffened. "I have not yet passed the right of manhood, no, and am still a foal to the eyes of the heavens, but I am still far wiser a-"

"Yeah, me neither with the passing, brother," Sirius said, grinning. "So, can you help me? Fate of Hogwarts rests in the balance. I, the mightiest, was sent forth-"

The centaur gave him a skeptical look.

"I need an owl," Sirius continued, leaving out the bravado, giving him a 'pleaaasseee' look.

The centaur moved softly, his hooves delicately kicking together. "The elders would not like this," he muttered to himself. "A human child, in the forest, on this, third night of the flowering month."

"You always do what adults say? I certainly don't. I'm Sirius, by the way." He extended his hand.

The young centaur looked confused, and stared at the boy's hand blankly. "I, too, am serious-"

"No, it's my name. S-i-r-"

"As in the Dog Star," the centaur mused, attaching his crossbow to the strap across his torso which held his quiver. His delicate hands removed a flute. "A child of the stars come to the forest. A most interesting omen. Perhaps- perhaps I could help you, as the elders might simply delay your quest," he mused. "Come. We centaurs, too, have uses for the night riders of the wind. In the clearing ahead, one will come." He indicated his flute by way of explanation.

"Excellent," said Sirius happily, as he had no idea how to go about getting an owl in the first place, having simply stuffed his pockets full of owl treats. "So, what's your name?"

The centaur sniffed slightly. "I do not lend my name carelessly to humans."

"Ah. Not even, er, a child of the stars?"

He got a slightly annoyed look.

"Don't push my luck," Sirius mumbled to himself, "got it."

"""""""""""""""""""""(""")"""""""""""""""""""""""""

"Whoa," said James, stumbling back as he stared at the giant Great Grey perched on Sirius' shoulder and clutched his hand where it had been pecked.

"Boreas doesn't like to be touched," Sirius exclaimed with clenched teeth, as the bird's talons were digging heavily into his shoulder. "Got the letter?"

James held it up, a rather quickly scribbled, yet readable scroll. The owl, taking off of Sirius' shoulder with heavy beats of its giant wings, snatched the letter out of James' hand and scratched it heavily in the process. Sirius, clutching his shoulder and wincing, tossed the owl another treat. "Take that to Albus Dumbledore," he told it, "and don't let anyone stop you for anything."

The owl hooted loudly and shot off, breaking a window in its hurry to get outside with fluid ease.

"That's the biggest owl I've ever seen," James muttered.

"There's no way any Ministry official can stop him," said Sirius confidently. "How goes it?"

"It doesn't," James said gruffly. "Operation Distract Slytherin goes underway in a matter of minutes, but it won't do much good. We can get most of the school, the awake half, safely to empty Hogsmeade easily, but Alice says there's no way we can get all the sleepers out. Probably not any. Remus and Philips are raiding Henson's cabinets based on what's already missing, and-" James swayed slightly. Sirius, eyes wide, grabbed him.

"I'm fine," James said instantly, righting himself. He, not about to be tasting coffee, grabbed his drink of sugar-filled pumpkin juice, and swigged it down. "Right. So, I'm not leaving without them. Some of the seventh years and stuff should be helping, since they know far more about this Potions stuff, but they're too busy saving they're own skins. Remus thinks if he can recreate the potion, he can create the antidote, but they're mostly improvising and he says Philips is like, dying, so you should go help him once we get them out. So, I'm staying, and so's Longbottom and a couple of others, but the Prewetts say no way, and they don't want us to stay either. So I've amended the plan a bit. What I want to know-"

"You're staying, I'm staying, no question. We're Marauders, a band of brothers. We stick together," Sirius said firmly.

James, a bit nervously, looked up. "Bell decided it's the end of the world and tried to kill Havok, who gave up a lot of information really quickly. He says it's this Friday, and that, well, You-Know-Who'll be showing up and he's going to make them all powerful, and use Hogwarts as a base for what Slytherin originally intended- a wizarding world led by the powerful and filled with the pure of blood. If he does... we could die."

Sirius shuddered. "Just what we need. Four days, hmm. Dumbledore'll show up," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

A clash, clatter, and a wailing ran through the hall. "It's starting," James said, rather gleefully.

In the dungeons, Gideon Prewett swooped up the fainting Jenny Philips quickly. "Lupin, c'mon," he ordered. "This is our chance."

"I'm waiting a bit, till James comes," Lupin lied, having no intention of leaving the cauldron as he added chamomile.

Gideon gave him an upset look. "Sure, if you say so. I'll lock the door. Lupin- good luck." Then he turned, running like lightning as he sprinted for the clocktower.

""""""""""""""("""""""""")""""""""""""""""

"What is that caterwauling?" Bellatrix demanded, turning to her older sister, who was transfiguring the nose of a wailing Hufflepuff first year.

"Nothing of consequence," Narcissa said, waving her red nails dismissively. "That ugly dumpling ghost Moaning Myrtle seems to be having yet another whiny tantrum."

A screaming and twirl of water and wind came threw the wall, soaking both girls and throwing them completely back. The other Slytherins slinking in the hallway stared in complete shock as Myrtle came through, wailing and crying and sobbing, having been thoroughly provoked much earlier by Sirius. They immediatly began to shoot spells, which, of course, passed right through her.

"Cruel, awful, wretched girls, being mean to poor Myrtle for no reason at all!" she pouted, crying enormous tears which began to collect on the floor.

Frank Longbottom, playing 'victim', jumped up and socked Macnair, who was staring in puzzled shock, gathering up those being assaulted by the out of control Slytherins, who turned on their assailants as they shoved their way through to the meeting place.

"Look carefully! No one gets left behind!" he shouted, pausing politely by Myrtle. "And thank you kindly, miss, you're clearly an exceptional young lady."

"Oh," she said, blinking, even as Frank turned to stun another Slytherin. "You're very welcome. Come visit my toilet any time."

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""

Cackling evily, Peeves zipped about Filch's head, throwing rotten tomatoes at him.

"Poltergeist! I'll get you if it's the last thing I do!" Filch shouted, after him with Ghost-Be-Gone (a cheap product which of course did nothing), misting it desperately in the air as he wiped red gunk off his face.

"Run, run, run, just as fast as you can," Peeves taunted. "You can't catch me 'cause you're an old man! Nya, nya, nya- hah, hah, hah!" he added, throwing a squished, brown banana directly into his face. If only the poor house elves knew what was happening to the rotten fruit...

Fabian, quickly, used the keys from Hagrid to unlock the manacles of several unhappy students dangling from their heels, who he had to Silence in order to keep them from shouting joyfully.

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"Ah-ha! Have at you, knaves!" Sir Cadogan shouted at the group chasing him towards the North Tower. "Ignoble, cowardly fools! Sons of hamsters! Eaters of elderberries! Eat steel, you fools!"

"Blow up the painting!" bellowed Goyle, racing down the hall.

"Now, really, some of these are priceless works of art!" Violet the portrait scolded as they ran past her.

"Die, little knight, die!" Rabastan insisted, neatly turning a pretty hat in a nearby painting into a black scorch mark.

"You realize there are a good twenty of us chasing this stupid thing for no good reason other than Bellatrix told us to?" Rodolphus sighed as he passed an annoyed second year.

"And that we highly dislike it," Rosier added, somewhat bleakly, as the crowd around him shoved ahead.

Cadogan, sitting backwards on his steed, was waving his heavy sword maniacally about, causing many people in portraits he passed through to duck. He couldn't understand why he seemed to be getting farther from the weary runners instead of closer, but figured they were on the retreat and continued madly cursing. "For glory! Honor! Valor! The lady whose token I bear!" he said proudly, holding up a piece of an undergarment he'd accidentally snagged on his sword from a picture of a woman doing the wash in an old-fashioned tub.

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"Really, Baron," said Sir Nicholas nervously, the clang of ghostly steel ringing through the Slytherin dormitory. "Must we do this?"

The Bloody Baron, rather elegantly, shrugged his bloody shoulders, not particularly caring, but dueling anyways. No one entered his house without explicit permission. Suddenly, clanged on the head by a large, ghostly book, he suddenly dropped his sword and floated a few inches above the ground. A few Slytherins groaned, their entertainment over.

"Women really must do everything, even in death," the Grey Lady sighed, coming the rest of the way through the wall. She cast a glance at Nick, whose head was bobbing to the side, completely at an angle, shook her head, and just as swiftly departed.

"Potter is now twice over in my debt," Nick muttered to himself, as he picked up his sword and fled, the young Slytherins sticking their hands through the unconscious Baron.

""""""""""""""""""""("""""""""")""""""""""""""""

"All the awake Hufflepuff, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors are accounted for," Andy Black told James calmly, "even if they're not all here."

"Good," he muttered, watching as people climbed through, one at a time, through the large hole made once the bricks had swung open after the fourth brick to the left on the floor was pulled out. A rope ladder, centuries old, dangled riskily. This was the only passage they could use without having to deal with a group of Slytherins, and possibly, whoever was inciting them. It wasn't possible to get the sleepers down this way, though Gideon Prewett refused to leave Philips behind, since she'd been awake up to just a few hours ago, and had somehow managed to get her down, acting as if she were his own sister. "You should end up in the manor of the Mayor," he informed her. "Don't let the Prewetts steal anything. Importantly, you can send firecalls from there. Get in touch with my father first, since he can send Aurors."

"Aren't you coming?" she asked him nervously.

"No," James said, shaking his head. "I'm staying with Frank. And with Kingsley, the Head Boy. He's the one who'll be in charge here."

"Coming through!" Fabian shouted, trailed after by a whole mess of kids and carrying a sleepy first year under his arm. Ignoring the ladder, he simply began to plop kids in the hole. "Peeves is double crossing us, he's leading Filch here for fun!" he shouted. "Quicker, quicker!"

Shacklebolt and Diggory came with the last wave of Hufflepuffs, hustling them through the floor, and Paddy Patil, his brother Pelleon, the handsomest boy in school, helping him, with the last group of Ravenclaws, only minutes behind. Shacklebolt and Patil didn't make a move for the hole themselves. "We're holing up in the infirmirary, after this," Shacklebolt told James quietly, clapping his hands on his shoulders. "You're welcome to join us."

He shook his head. "No, Peter and Sir are already helping Remus. We'll be in Henson's room."

Shacklebolt looked at him sternly. "I don't like that, Potter. You shouldn't be alone."

"I won't be."

Frank, at last, came racing with the latest group of stragglers, Peeves and Filch on his heels. He began to simply drop them in, Alice kicked him when he tried to pick her up. "I am not going," she said loudly, and Marlene slipped next to her.

"Close it up, close it up," Patil hissed to his brother.

"What're you doing? They're still up there!" Fabian shouted in dismay, his protests cut off as the stones we're closed.

Filch, confusedly, faced just a few students. "And what're we doing here?" he said, eyeing the motley group that remained.

"Checking the time," said a panting Longbottom.

Filch, considering himself an authority, barked, "Detention for the lot of you-"

"Pardon," said Kingsely, pulling out a burnished badge proclaiming his status as Head Boy. "But technically, with the teachers absent, I outrank you. That will be all, sir." Then, gathering his group up, he marched them off, to where they intended to protect those who couldn't protect themselves, where Hagrid already stood guard, from anyone intending to break in. James, joining them, planned to head over to the Potions room the moment he had the chance, through a passageway he knew of which joined the two.

When James finally arrived the next day, his friends were sitting in there usual seats, just like it was a school day, only the potion they were stewing over could mean a lot. James and Peter were ordered to stay back, since they both apparently had distant Muggle blood way back somewhere, and plenty of fumes floated above the cauldron. They quietly ate the last of the food they'd brought from the kitchen as they explored the ingredients, including different types of blood used in potions.

Sirius, bored, was twiddling with different herbs that were sleep aids, when he threw some lavender randomly in. Remus, nose twitching slightly, paused. James, bringing a glass to his lips, drew his gaze. "James! No!" Remus barked, rushing to knock the pumpkin juice from his hand. He stared at the spilled juice, which also had the same faint scent drifting from it. "Why didn't we realize?" he muttered, "The one thing everyone drinks- except Lily. No wonder she lasted so long. How brilliant, to slowly put it in the pumpkin juice. Depending how much someone drank- how much had built up in one's system..." he trailed off.

James turned as pale as fresh-fallen snow. "I've been drinking nothing but it for days," he said unhappily.

Peter, shocked, dropped a container of dragon's blood, which shattered on the floor. Sighing, he Scourged it away, then bent to pick up the glass. One piece had rolled under the cabinet. Groping, he pulled it out. It was a clear, empty vial, with a plain label written on it. "Crup's Blood?" he shuddered. "That's awful. I didn't know that was used in potions."

"It's not," Remus said bluntly, walking over.

Crups, dog-like wizarding creatures, adored wizards, yet were ferocious to Muggles, though no one knew why. Perhaps it was even in their very blood. Remus, staring at it, wondered if his own canine nature had been what had protected him, and for Hagrid, his sheer size. He would probably never know for sure. "Look for more," he ordered, adding what he felt sure was his last ingredient to a list.

They spent a day turning the entire Potions room upside down, until Peter found one at the very back of a cabinet of supplies, marked with several other hazardous material.

""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""

In the hospital ward, students stood in shock as they heard a voice behind them. One professor wasn't asleep any longer. At first relieved, it stopped when Patil was suddenly blasted with a cry of, "Crucio!" Screaming, he fell to the ground, twitching.

Shacklebolt stepped forward, ready to duel, afraid he might never live to see graduation, his face grimly set as his fellows backed him up.

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James watched enviously as Sirius dozed, then jolted upright as the passageway from the Hospital Ward opened and closed. He looked to his own Invisibility Cloak, hanging on the door, then at the closed passageway. "Nick?" he said hopefully, even sleepy as he was knowing that wouldn't be the case. Standing up, drawing his wand, he felt a sudden jolt to the back of his head, and he blacked out.

Had Peter not faintly heard it and shook off his daze, who knows what might have happened next. His eyes wide open, he watched James crumple to the floor, not sure if his friend was alive or dead.

"Remus! Sirius!" he bellowed, and his friends snapped awake.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Remus shouted instantly, in the direction he heard footsteps.

A muffled voice responded. "Finite Incantatem." The light from Remus' wand stopped in midair and faded.

"Aparecium!" Sirius yelled, and a faint outline of the cloak appeared. "Come out, Vonn Donn, you scared?"

"Vonn Donn? You think that I'm Vonn Donn?" Laughing, Henson threw off her cloak, pointing her wand at them with her sparkly painted nails, which suddenly looked creepy.

"You!" Peter said in shock. "B-But you were nice and, and Muggle born!"

"Half," she snapped. "I have a stepmother, you see. Pardon, had. I killed her," she said, her lips twitching up in a demented smile. Her eyes fell on a book Sirius had on the table. "You found the book I gave Evans," she said, cackling. "It was right in front of your noses, and you saw nothing of it! Nothing. One of my master's more ingenius plans. We're very similar, you see. We think the same way. How delightful, to be able to play out one of his childhood dreams."

"Lady, you have some issues," Sirius said in disbelief, then spat out swiftly, "Expelliarmus!"

"Protego," she countered easily. "Little Black. You, particularly, disgust me. Born into everything I was denied, offered what I was denied, free to lead Slytherin house if you so chose, and you choose this," she said disgustedly, gesturing to James. "I give you a chance to reclaim it all, as only the purest of blood would thrive, and you deny it again!"

"Densaugeo!" Remus tried. She sidestepped. "You fools! Don't you see it's far too late!" She gestured to the fireplace. "Any moment now, my master will come for me."

"That was supposed to be Friday!" Sirius yelped.

"Oh, yes, Luther's little slip of the tongue. Do you honestly think he was suicidal enough to betray me? Not in the slightest," she said smugly.

"How'd you manage it?" Peter squeaked. "You-you faked-"

"No." She said calmly. "I truly took my own potion. Simple enough to create a slow acting antidote, for one of my caliber. I had no choice, you see. After all, when it comes to poison, who first to suspect but the Potion master? Easy enough to fool Poppy once she stopped constantly checking on me. I only needed to slip down to the kitchen for a moment each night, simple enough with my Cloak, and through the passageway to brew anew once each month. Then, it became easier with Dumbledore removed by my master. The fool is dead by now."

"Liar," Remus snapped.

She shrugged her shoulders, lazily leaning back. "It was you, half-breed, and your friends, with your fireworks, who gave me my idea for the Owlery, and the little Evans girl, with her bad reaction to the vapor, who showed me how I could rid myself of the pesky teachers. Easy enough, to uncap a bottle invisibly and let a room full of vapor take out even the most pure-blooded of them, for those who oppose my master, the true Heir of Slytherin, are just as Mudblooded as the rest. Just like your poor little friends back in the hospital-"

"E-Expelliarmus!" Peter shouted suddenly, terrified. Her wand, to her amazement, jerked out of her hand, and Sirius darted for it. Remus raised his wand at her.

"You think I ne-" She paused, as a green fire, a blaze so bright it turned their vision to spots, roared up in the fireplace. "My master comes for me!" she shouted.

Albus Dumbledore, eyes cold and blazing, stepped majestically out of the fireplace. "He never intended to come for you, Harriet."

"Nooo!" she moaned. "You have killed him!" She looked for her wand, which Sirius waved obnoxiously.

"He only used you to strike at me and Hogwarts. Tom knows quite well that he is nowhere near yet powerful to take it." His blue eyes, like chips of ice, narrowed. "And no, I have not- No!"

As he was speaking, she had snatched a potion vial from her robes. Knowing she had no time to open it, she bashed it against her mouth, causing it to bleed as the glass cut into her high cheekbones and lips. But the liquid took its toll. A lolling smile on her face, her eyes went glassy, and she crumpled, lifeless, to the floor.

Dumbledore, if possible more angry, picked up a piece of glass and sniffed it lightly. His expression darked. "Essence of monkshood."

"She-she's dead," Sirius said, staring at her in horror.

"Yes, she is, I'm afraid, though I would have prevented it were I able," Dumbledore said, his body rigid. He sniffed, face frowning, as he examined the potion. He picked up the list. "This is a fine job you have done, Remus Lupin. It will be remarkably easy for Professor Sprout to create an antidote based on the contents of the actual potion. I dare say it will not take long at all for things to return to normal."

Remus, his eyes, horrified, on the body, managed, "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, sir, but Sirius and Phil- Jenny helped a lot. What about the Slytherins, sir?"

"A team of Aurors, assisted by your friend James Potter's father, has entered the castles and is subduing the seventh years as we speak. I dare say several of them will face expulsion, but the others, from what I have heard, have done little worse than that done in a standard duel. But I will not tolerate bullying at Hogwarts." His eyes blazed. "I assure you, they will be dealt with."

"How long before James wakes up?" Peter piped, unable to look at Henson, where clearly, the 'chicken' of Lily's words had come from, even though, technically, the son of a hen was a rooster. Still, one couldn't expect a fading mind to recall everything.

"He has been simply knocked out, not fallen victim to the sickness. Mr. Potter has not a drop of Muggle blood in his veins unless you trace him back to Camelot. Stress, Peter, only stress," Dumbledore said benevolently. "Come, let us leave this place. You are very lucky to be uninjured, my boys. Harriet Henson was, by this stage, quite mad. You are indeed fortunate she chose you to brag to. Evil often suffers hubris, though little more than we do."

He directed them towards the hallway, drawing their attention away from her body. "One last thing," he murmured, and tossed the Agatha Christie book into the fire. "Such a waste of good literature. Ennervate!" he exclaimed, and James Potter began to float behind them.

"Did you beat Voldemort, Professor?" Sirius asked eagerly.

"No, Sirius," said Dumbledore wearily. "I spent much time finding him, and we spoke at great length, and yes, we did fight, and then we spoke again."

They gave him puzzled looks. "Perhaps, one day, you may understand," Dumbledore said slowly. "Tom Riddle was the most brilliant student ever to come through Hogwarts. More brilliant than me, and yes, Mr. Black, more brilliant than you and James, despite the skeptical look you are shooting behind my back. I cannot break him, but neither can he break me. As much as I would like it to be, it does not fall into my power to defeat him."

"But- you're _Albus Dumbledore_," said Remus, putting some awe into the name.

"And I am just a man. Yet- so is he. Put your faith in yourself, boys. You saw what happened to Professor Henson. That is what comes of bending your knee to another mortal."

"Are we going to get awards?" Peter wondered.

"There are many in this affair who deserve them, not leastly yourselves," the headmaster said kindly. "Many great deeds were done for Hogwarts, and many of those now in the hospital wing have suffered far more than you. I believe term will end a bit prematurely, this quarter, as certain students need to be prepared for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. I know several sets of parents who are anxious to have their children returned to them."

"Not mine," Sirius muttered.

Dumbledore paused and winked at him, patting his shoulder. "Oh, I don't think your parents need to know school is ending any earlier than usual. I can't allow the Potters to kidnap you, of course, but I'm sure they'll be eager to host you for the rest of May and June."

Sirius, for once speechless, let his eyes go wide.

A Great Grey owl swooped down, seeing them. "This is a remarkable bird," Dumbledore commented, letting it perch on its arm. "I believe it belongs to the forest, does it not? You did a very good job to contact me." Sirius wasn't sure if he were talking to the owl or him. "Now, if you will run along to the hospital wing, I'd appreciate if you'd explain to Henry Potter why his son is bobbing behind you."

They nodded, Henson momentarily out of their minds. "Scoot," Dumbledore told them, smiling, allowing Boreas, a Darken Owl of old and one that Fawkes knew quite well, to follow them.

He took in a deep breath, looking around the hallway. "It's good to be home," he said quietly, and set off to the Slytherin common room.

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_"Remus?"_ the face in the mirror asked, tapping it. "Hul-lo? Remus? You still there?" It sounded, momentarily, like Sirius waking him up.

He started, coming out of his past. Fred's head bobbed over his own mirror, appearing in his. "You okay?" the boy asked mildly.

"Fine," he said, forcing a tight grin, and running a hand through his graying hair. "Tell Jenny my memory of the potion is crystal clear. I'll head back as soon as we're finished here and fetch Snape." He thought briefly of Snape, who, even though he'd hated them, had even then almost helped.

Fred grinned at him. "Aye, aye, Moony. How goes the dragon hunting?"

Remus, miserably, looked to where Tonks and Charlie were watching the dragons as they slept under heavy spells, most blinded, horribly maimed, or missing young ones or a mate. Not a single member of the wizard clan MacFusty had been spared, because the wife of the latest 'patriarch' had been Muggle-born, and because they had dared to try to keep something Voldemort wanted away from him. '"It goes," he said curtly.

Fred seemed to listen on the other end. "Jenny says we're going to head to Azkaban. Diggle's got things under control here, and she says we're stretched too thin, with only Podmore there. She's sending my mom and dad to get Kingsley and Doge, 'cause they're as pure-blood as wizards get."

Remus agreed, considering Podmore'd been taken too easily last time he was guarding something, and that both Arthur and Molly were excellent choices, appearing possibly the most normal of the lot if they didn't wear robes.

"We covered at Privet Drive?" Fred added, listening still.

"Yes. Hestia Jones has her shift there next. She's more than capable of handling any number of Death Eaters," Remus said, grinning at Hestia, who was listening in.

"You'd better believe it!" she shouted, curly dark hair bouncing.

"Okay, good. Wait, what? Oh, Moony, ever heard of something called the Perilous Gard?" Fred inquired, looking equally bewildered.

He squinted. "Yeah, Sirius mentioned it once. Old legend, Dark family stuff. I'd check the books we didn't chuck at Grimmauld place."

Jenny's voice, rising in excitement, could be faintly heard.

"I take it that's good news," Fred said dryly.

"Er, Fred?" Remus said puzzledly, finally noticing something. "Why's your hair that color?"

"We're in Scotland Yard," he said cheerily.

Remus blanched, then shook his head. "All right. I'll sign off then."

"Ooh, no, let me do it," Fred said happily. "Mission managed!" The mirror went blank, reflecting only Remus' own haggard, sleep-deprived countenance, looking far older and greyer than the boy he remembered. He put it in his robe pocket and headed over.

"They are not, by any means, in any world, cute little things," Tonks said skeptically to Charlie, her hair, still fluctuating from her injuries, going a strange white-orange.

"Oh, come on, they're the best," he told her, excitedly. "And if you like broomsticks, try riding a dragon sometime- of course, as a soon to be certified Magizoologist in the study of dragons, I'm certainly neither condoning nor advising you to hop onto one of these," he added hastily, but with a smirk. "They're incredible, fascinating beings with personalities of their own, especially the Horntails, so much so that one of my colleagues have given them names based on what they act like."

"Really? We usually just call them the nasty, pointy, flame-spitting, spiky ones," Tonks said sweetly.

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"Good practice, everyone!" Gwenog Jones shouted, clapping her hands, her creamy medium colored skin glowing as she packed the Bludgers away.

Angelina staggered against Alicia Spinnet. "I take back everything I ever said about Wood," she breathed, pointing her broom at Jones. "She's the Captain of the dead legions of hell."

Cheekily, but equally exhausted, Alicia said, "I take back all the things I said about you, too."

Her dark skin hiding her flush, Johnson panted, "Oh, c'mon, I was never that bad."

Alicia, mussing her short blonde hair, grinned and said, "Actually, I'm amazed Fred's still in love with you, considering all the horror stories he must have heard about what you put his siblings through-"

"He is not in love with me," Angelina said sharply.

Alicia, who'd been far closer with Katie but saw Angelina much more now, realized she'd hit a sore spot with out intending to.

"He's just infatuated," Angelina said, scowling.

"Ahh," Alicia said merrily, intending to go off on a whole new route to torment her friend. She stopped, suddenly, as she noticed a few men in dark robes coming up to Gwenog.

They drew their wands swiftly, and got back on their brooms.

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In Siberia, far away, a wizard pulled himself out of the snow and searched for his glasses. Deep underneath, he heard his phone ring faintly but had no intention of diving back down to find it. He groped for his frames, finding them in his hair. Happily, he put them on his snow covered face, only to find the lenses were gone. "Oh, bugger," he muttered, as he lit his wand.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""""""""""

Glittering eyes watched as the witch and young wizard headed down an alleyway, their hair slowly changing back. They watched as the pair Disapparated and carefully muttered a spell to track them. Cold, once ruby lips turned into a smile as the watcher moved to follow. Even her walk was dangerous, her now pristine robes swinging to her heels. Death walked alongside her, her constant companion.

Bellatrix Lestrange walked abroad.


	19. Turning Corners

When she thought about being twelve, the only thought which came to mind was what a shockingly different person she had been back then. Her hands punched the numbers automatically into the phone, and she was dimly aware of Fred saying something witty, but Jenny couldn't really look at him, not with his hair the same shade of Gideon's. No, he looked nothing like him, despite the relation, though there was something similar in his rangy stride, and a twinkle in his eyes when they flashed. She supposed, if life had gone differently, if the world had been a different place, the self she had been at twelve could very well be walking down a very similar street with a son not so unlike Fred. That girl, though, had been a laughing, sociable creation with brief spurts of temper and a strong dependence on friends. All of that had changed, of course, especially after her parents died, but she'd still been the same person. She'd still blushed, laughed, sighed over good-looking, if slightly dangerous boys like Sirius. Especially Sirius, of course. Pretty much only him. But, really, she'd always thought it would be...

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"Gideon!"

He didn't stop, merely shifted his large trunk more to the other arm and kept walking in a stumbling sort of gait. "What?" he called back, annoyed.

She caught up to him.

He blinked as she stepped in front of him, nearly tripping him up. "Jenny! Jeez, I thought you were Jones. How're you feelin- oops, wait, hang on a min-" He staggered, the trunk unbalancing at last and sending him reeling about, trying to keep from falling.

He landed on a passing boy, the trunk landing on Gideon's own chest with an 'oof'.

"I'll murder you, Prewett," a muffled voice said from underneath. "I'll eviscerate you," Sirius insisted as Gideon managed to shove the trunk off both of them and offered Black a hand up. "One of these days you shall not live to see the dawn," Sirius declared, glaring darkly. Then he laughed and took Prewett's hand. He paused, tilting his head at Prewett's sweater with a look of horror. "Good Godric, mate! What on earth are you wearing?"

Gideon flushed as Jenny and the approaching Potter, bickering with Evans, began to laugh, his trunk no longer hiding the awful sweater he wore. "Oh, hush up," he muttered, crossing his arms to attempt to hide the tangle of bright, yellow and purple wool with a cluster of blue vaguely forming the image of a sheep at the center. "My sister gave it to me for Christmas, and she's coming to collect us since my parents are too busy and didn't expect us this early. So I've got to wear it." He paused, and with a smug note added, "And Fabian's is worse. His is pink."

His brother gave him a long-suffering look as he lifted his younger brother's trunk and loaded it into the train. "It's red," he said, accompanied with a death glare. "It's just... washed out a bit, that's all."

Potter shook with restrained laughter, while flicking his wand in a motion that slowly began to unravel Fabian's sweater from the back.

"Oh no you don't," Evans began, but Potter's father reached him first and began to whisper something threatening in his ear. James dropped his wand as if it had gone red-hot.

"Can he do that to mine?" Gideon asked mournfully, as the others boarded the train. Jenny tugged on his sleeve, holding him back. "Yeah? What?"

She hugged him fiercely, then let go. "Thanks. For, y'know, trying to keep me awake and not leaving me behind or anything."

He ruffled her short hair. "All in a day's work, kiddo. Ah, better run, your ma's heading this way," he informed her, as he jumped onto the train.

"Bother," she muttered, and began to race in the opposite direction, towards where James and Sirius, waiting with Mr. Potter, were waving to their departing friends.

""""""""""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""""

She shook her head, her long curls impatiently bobbing back and forth. Jenny Philips was a completely different person than she had been. She had a different sense of humor, a wardrobe her younger self would have thought quite Muggle, a changed set of values, and, unfortunately, the same poor taste in men. But the girl she had thought long dead and buried had been troubling her of late. There was a duality struggling inside her, heightened by her return to England, and her Hogwarts skills, if slightly amateurish, seemed at times to automatically take over from her accumulated talents of the past fifteen years. That was not good, considering the superiority of the latter. And she hated duality. Everyone had it, she supposed, unable to stop thinking about it partly because the boy beside her was a twin and partly because of the number she knew she'd have to dial eventually. She had reason to dislike people who were two-faced, because of Black's "betrayal", and Jenny certainly had her fill of the extremity of the two sides of every vampire: the human, normal side- and the other. Fitz carried it off well, but the bestial nature bothered him deep down almost as much as it did Remus, and Lupin's duality would open a whole new can of worms. She had accepted it within herself, the jocular side Fitz tried so hard to tease out of her mixed in with cool professionalism, but the emotions, tendencies, talents and dreams of a past life opposed her current nature on too many levels.

She was distracted and on edge. It probably wasn't completely her fault she didn't notice they were being tailed.

"'Ello?" came a voice at last after what seemed like the tenth ring. In the background, music blared. "_Bee-zelbub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for meeee_," came suddenly out of the phone, whoever had picked up apparently singing along.

"This is Philips," she announced, trying to speak as clearly as possible without drawing too much attention from passerbys, who were already casting odd looks at the boy mumbling into a mirror whose hair seemed to be slowly turning a vibrant red at the roots.

Before she could speak again, the man on the other end started to shout into the phone. "Philips! Swell to hear from ya, Angus speaking, naturally. Oy, Maura, Doyle's gal's on the phone! Where is the bastard, anyhow?"

"Russia, it seems," Jenny told him loudly.

"Really? News to me. What's that?" he yelled as the record dramatically changed, over what sounded like a fistfight, to the opening strains of Stairway to Heaven. "Ah, yep, Deirdre says Liam's gone with him, and Franny, too, so they should be fi- I'll call him whatever I want, leave me be- er, you want something, Philips?"

She tried, desperately, not to sigh. "Patch me through to Monaghan, would you?"

Abruptly, the phone began to ring again, but this time the answerer was prompt, and a warm Celtic sound played in the background. "Monaghan speaking, this better be worth-"

"Gerry," Jenny greeted him warmly and swiftly. "Look, I need Francis' number. Or Liam's, whichever."

"Philips," he responded in a heavy brogue, settling into a tone which had little to do with business as the music was promptly switched off. "Well, much as I'd like to do a pretty lady a favor, can't really do so without Fitz's go ahead. Not with that pretty Miss du Noir running about with the same numbers as you and a skill o' imitatin' whoever she wants with those lovely vocal cords-"

Jenny made an annoyed sound and interrupted. "First time I met you, you'd been dating O'Brian for a month and a whole bunch of us walked in on you in a compromising position with a _very_ accommodating young lady. Your first words to me, if I recall, were 'Champagne? 'S a bit bubbly for my tastes, but you can have as much as yah like-'"

"Must have left an impression for you to recall so well," he teased, apparently flipping through papers from the noise. "But I think it was more along the lines of 'bit bubbly for my tastes, and so's she, but- erm, I really shouldn't finish that for fear y'know some way to take revenge over the phone. Ah, your mind's a bit cleaner than mine in its modification of memories, I fear. I, naturally, prefer to believe in the version where you followed up on my, eh, suggestions-"

"As opposed to stepping on your foot and insisting Fitz stop restraining Erin O'Brian?" she asked, her voice sugary with a light dash of friendly venom.

"Ah, that's the ticket. Not the way I remember it, but then I _was_ repeatedly hit on my bloomin' head. Not to mention roarin' drunk. And I do seem to recall a broken foot." He laughed. "Good to hear from you, Jenny girl. You've stayed away too long. I miss your delightful face and less delightful comments." His tone changed slightly. "Boss misses you too, y'know. Say, you in some kinda trouble, if you're in a rush to talk to him? 'Cause I can always muster the team and charge a bit more than half a league over to England. 'Course, I'd have to sober up most of them-"

"It's just after five o'clock," she commented.

He paused. "You really must have been gone a long time." It took a lot to get a vampire drunk, so to get really roaring out of their heads, they'd have to take days off and start drinking at noon. It was rare for a vampire to bother. Not all vampires, of course, were louts, and a smaller group of those were Irish. They did, in fact, bother.

"So, right on, I'll just patch you through to Liam, 'cause we had to take Franny's phone away after he blew up the last one trying to answer it- that made twelve, y'know, and we thought it a bit unlucky to shoot for thirteen. Still- really nice hearing from you."

"Er, Monaghan?" Jenny said, hesitating. "You mentioned Izzy... I mean, du Noir."

"So I did."

"Has she-"

"Nope, not a laid a toe near us. Still, Fitzgerald's got an eye out. Ran into her about a year back. Didn't he tell you? Guess not. Isabeau... ah, she was always a beaut. Damn shame what happened to her. Very little of the girl left rattling about in that pretty head."

"Nothing," Jenny corrected sharply, then said more softly, "Dial up O'Connell, if you would, Gerard."

"Right-o. Come visit us real soon now, hear? I'm starting to forget how pretty you are." He laughed, and then the phone began to ring again.

"I'm bored," Fred announced loudly. "I can't hear the other end of your conversation, and I'm sick of exchanging pleasantries with my brother and Tonks. Please let me do something wicked. I really, really, want to test a few new products. The passerbys'll never know what hit them..." He trailed off hopefully.

She raised a brow at him, which, like her hair, was changing from the dark color she'd altered it to back to her original smoky brown.

"Forget it. Have you been listening to anything I've been saying? Fine. I don't care," he said huffily. He turned back to the mirror, where it could be seen that Tonks' hair had turned a shoulder-length grey in her boredom. Brightly, he continued, "As I was telling you, she's about up to Charlie's nose, if he stands, and her eyes positively light up- though usually not when I walk into the room, but George thinks they do- they're a really delightful shade of russet, and-"

Jenny suddenly grabbed the back of his coat collar and yanked him into an alley. "Here's a good place," she decided as Fred yelped in protest, heels dragging along the ground for an instant. "Disapparate. We're heading to Azkaban."

He swallowed, and nodded, pocketing the mirror as he raised his wand.

From a distance behind, a shadow watched.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""""""""""

"We-ell, all the money that e'er I spent, I-I spe-ent it in go-ood com-pan-y..." Francis warbled, shuddering with the cold as he blasted furiously at the snow pile which was all that remained of the cave, rather than keeping himself warm. By now he'd created several deep holes around the general area. "A-and all the harm that e'er I donnnne... Alas, it 'twas to none but meeeee." He paused momentarily in his singing, then sobered slightly as he continued with the next part he could remember. "B-but since it falllls, unto my lot... that I should rise..." He stopped, panting, and slowly continued to blast the snow. "And you should not," he added quietly to himself.

"I'll gently rise, and softly call, Good night, and joy be with you all," a welcome, very dry voice finished impatiently, as a head popped out of the snow a bit aways. "Help me out here, Francis, will you?"

"You're not dead!" he said joyfully, rushing over.

"Yet," Fitz muttered, "Unfortunately. Owwww!" he shouted as the snow around the rest of his body suddenly faded away under Francis' blasting spell and he tumbled out onto the ice.

Francis, originally relieved, suddenly began to laugh when he saw his friend.

"It isn't funny," he griped, staring at his friend, who only refrained from tears of laughter because he knew they'd freeze. "It really hurts," he whined.

When Tatiana had departed, the enchantment on the snow had faded with her, but it had left its mark. From where it had fallen on Fitz, his skin had turned a remarkably vibrant scarlet, almost a maroon, and had blistered and peeled until it seemed he had fallen asleep without sunscreen at noon somewhere on the Equator. His gloveless hands seemed to be simply massive blisters, and he'd injured them worse scrabbling for his wand, remaining dagger, and the cell phone, which he'd eventually just left behind, and struggling to the surface, which he really hadn't been that far from. His cheeks had puffed out, looking like a chipmunks. It'd take a good week to clear up, he thought ruefully, and it _stung_.

He glared at Francis, in a way which normally would have seemed quite menacing. "You dope. You're supposed to warn Jenny, she's in danger, you said, and you stay here when I am entirely capable of rescuing myself and ... -Where's Liam?" he demanded, suddenly nervous.

Francis looked alarmed, and the relief faded.

Fitz shuddered, knowing that if he was fine, his friend should be in similar condition, but knowing the non-magical vampire had a far lesser chance of emerging as he had. "Hell," he groaned, then punctuated his remark with some stronger language, which he felt merited the situation. "All right. Stand back." He hesitated. "Second thought, stand behind me, I don't wanna fall on the ice." He wondered briefly how he had survived his youth, when there was no one to trust in such a situation.

He raised his hands and flicked his many times battered, repeatedly broken, never polished wand. "_Pyraceamus_!" he thundered. At once, the snow in the cave was gone as if it had never been, and a flood of water suddenly rose with a rush and dropped. Francis, swift of mind and wand, cast a heating spell on the water before it landed, just in case this was one of the one out of two times magical water had an adverse effect on his vampire friends. He then began to shatter the rocks which still blocked the way.

Unfortunately for Fitz, this meant Francis was a bit distracted. He swooned and flopped, unnoticed, to the ground.

"Liam!" Francis said, worried. He ran over and began to shake him.

""Ive more minutes, Mum," he slurred, rolling slightly, his hands covering his face from his position in a little ball.

Francis narrowed his eyes, then hit his friend, hard, on his reddened cheek. "How can you be sleeping?!"

Liam blinked, his pale brown eyes flickering up at his friend. He stared at his hands, where his gloves had burnt away to shreds. "These were genuine lambskin," he complained sleepily. He tapped his brilliantly red face, wincing at the pain. "Yow. If I look as bad as I feel, I'll have trouble getting dates for a while. I feel like a giant bruise."

"Since when have you had a date?" Francis jibed, then remembered Fitz. He rubbed his head as if he had a headache.

"Weren't you supposed to be going somewhere else?" Liam wondered, as Francis roused a swearing, ire-filled Fitz who had yet another lump appearing on the back of his head, joining the other bruises which covered his body from the falling rocks, which few but a vampire could have easily survived.

Francis frowned at him from his crouched position as he helped Fitz rise to his wobbly knees. "Did you honestly expect me to leave you? Anyway, we're too far out in the middle of nowhere to safely Disapparate, and certainly then I would have trouble making it back to England."

"You only had to make it to a phone," Fitz groaned.

"Those telly-thingies are bleedin' useless," Francis reprimanded.

"They're not," said Liam, who was busy scrabbling on the ground for his own expensive, not-on-the-market-yet cell phone. "Oh, and Doyle, ha, I survived without shifting form, aren't you proud of me?" he added triumphantly, quite pleased he had not allowed his more demonic side to take control, as he often did.

Fitz, distractedly, waved his hand dismissively. "What sort of ruse did you say was going on in England, Francis? What sort of danger is... she in?"

Francis nervously pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, I'm a bit rusty on my Eastern European languages, so I'm not entirely positive, but it seems-"

"Ha! Found it! Stupid thing's water-logged, did you have to use that spell, Fitzgerald?" Liam complained, turning it on. Immediately, a blaring noise emitted from it, causing the vampire to grip his sensitive ears. "It's a miracle!" he said jubilantly.

"No, it's magic," Fitz reminded, "doesn't need batteries, give me that!" He grabbed it, thumbing the button. "Jenny?" he asked the static that greeted him. Shrugging, he handed it to the visibly excited Francis.

"Philips, if you can hear this, get back to whatever the phoenix is!" he shouted into the phone, hoping she could here him. "Ignore something to do with dreams, 'cause they're trying to get a whole bunch of people away from what they called the roost! They know where it is! Not that I know what it is, but they do! They're after some girl and they're after wherever the bird stays! Big trouble, lots of death- not good! Hello? Please tell me you're getting this! Anything!" He waited a moment. "Damn," he muttered, "I don't think a word of that got through."

Fitz, a growl escaping his taut throat, grabbed his friend by the collar of the shirt, lifting him off the ground so they met eye to eye. Normally, this would look quite intimidating, but his face was still brilliant scarlet, and his hands were so blistered that it was clearly causing him pain to touch anything. "I gave you an order to find her," he told his friend in a dangerous voice. "You didn't. If anything happens to her..." He dropped Francis, who didn't look remotely terrified. "That's it. We're goi-"

"Fitz?" said Liam in a strange voice.

"Not now. Look, I don't care if we have to walk through Russia, and I don't care how long it takes, or- oh, shoot I'm forgetting Tatia-"

"Doyle!"

"Quiet!" Francis barked in chorus with Fitz.

"Tatiana. Of course, she could be in England by now," Francis mused. "Quite a danger, probably more urgent even than us freezing our arses off in Siberia. A powerhouse with no restraint, all too likely to fall into the hands of Voldemort-"

"Fitzgerald!" Liam shouted, backing away.

"What, is it the other vampires?" Fitz wondered, without turning around. "They survive, too? If it is, tell them to go away, we're busy. We've got to go to England. Hope we're not too la-"

The snow leopard pounced on the strange smelling creature which seemed to be a threat to its territory, the tall creature with the scent of blood falling to the ground with an 'oof' as the mighty cat landed on his chest.

A careful flick of the wand sent the wobbling, liquid filled balloon dangling gently over the hoary head of the sleeping man. George Weasley gestured slightly, angling the tip, and the small blue balloon, which seemed to hold some form of gel from its constant jiggling, drifted into a slightly higher proximity. It seemed prepared to plunge.

"No!" Oliver hissed in horror, gripping his friend's arm. "He'll turn you into a toad! He's done it before, he trained my mum and she told all these stories about what he did to the trainees. He'll-"

"Don't worry, he's quite experienced at running away," the red-headed girl crouched beside them said flippantly.

"Nae, nae, doncha worry," George said jovially, in a painful imitation of Wood's accent. "I nae perfectly well what ah'm doin'-"

"Would you knock that off!" Wood barked sullenly, and George, rolling his eyes, twirled his wand absently, sending the balloon dropping at rapid speed straight onto Moody's snoring face. A thick pink liquid splattered not only all over the retired Auror, but also onto the comfortable arm chair which he favored.

A slight tic appeared briefly in George's forehead, and then he bolted. Wood, wincing, turned to apologize, only to be yanked by Ginny in the same direction George had hurtled himself in.

"But- but-" Wood began to sputter.

"No buts, he'll blame anyone who gets in his way- ask Ron," she said swiftly, tugging the protesting Quidditch player up the stairs after her.

His friend, who had so readily left him to the mercy of Moody, had leaped up and was dangling from a rope loop in the ceiling, unseen until he'd grabbed it. With a sudden crack, the rope pulled down, revealing a hatch. George vaulted up into it with ease, then, with surprise at seeing they had followed him, offered his sister a hand up.

Ginny took it, allowing her brother to yank her up into the small attic room with one fluid motion. Wood ignored their proffered hands, jumping to get a grip on the rather high hatch, then outstretched one hand to grab onto the attic floor, following with the other, to yank himself up.

Ginny grabbed onto her brother's legs as he leaned out of the high up room, his entire upper body dangling over the edge, as he yanked the hatch back up into position. His face flushed, the Weasley twin beamed as he lit up his wand. "He'll be pink for a week!" he crowed gleefully.

Ginny shook her head at him, her halo of red hair dancing out around her, glowing in the light of her own wand. "You said it'd take him a month to switch his feet back the right way round and it took him about three hours. You'll be lucky if it takes him fifteen minutes."

George scowled at her, stooping to avoid bumping the low ceiling.

"You could be a bit more subtle," she continued, glaring at him. "If you just listened to my ideas-"

"It's too boring that way-" he wailed.

"But it's so much more of a mystery, they'll never be able to prove who did it-"

"A vintage Falmouth Falcons poster!" Oliver Wood yelped gleefully as he studied the poster magically attached to the dusty wall. "This has gotta be at least thirty years old! They don't make them like this anymore! It's got the Broadmoor brothers on it- and they signed it! They never signed anything for anybody!"

George blinked. "Oh, right, I noticed that last summer. Those are the chaps whose plays you always wanted to teach me and Fred not to do, right?"

Wood shot him a pained look. "Did I teach you nothing?"

"Well, yes," George said firmly, flopping back onto a broad, sagging chair which seemed to practically scrape the floor as his weight was added to it. He looked fondly about the cramped, very dark little room, which held an old prank kit, a few Quidditch action figures, and some posters on the wall, as well as crate full of illegal supplies recently acquired from Mundungus Fletcher and the Weasley twin's current works in progress, being stored here as a safe copy in case of an (all too common) accident happening to the original. He sighed contentedly.

Wood studied one of the battered Quidditch figures and let out a soft whistle. "A Darren O'Hare model," he said reverently.

George shuddered. "Oliver's idol," he told Ginny. "Any second now, he'll be getting down on bended knee and worshipping it."

"Do you know how much this is worth?" Oliver said in awe. "Five hundred Galleons!" He reconsidered. "Well, if it wasn't missing its arm and a bit gnawed upon."

George suddenly keenly stared at the floor. "Anyone see a green-robed arm?"

"And that one looks like it might have been a Griffiths before it was decapitated! Who does this belong to?" Wood asked, a possessive gleam in his eye.

Ginny shrugged. "Sirius, I guess. Everything in the house does- I mean, did," she corrected herself with effort. George's attention was drawn suddenly from the floor.

Wood instinctively dropped it, though he didn't intend to, which led both Weasleys to stare at him menacingly. "I know!" he barked, as they both began to talk at once.

"I thought Jenny told you, he isn't a murderer-"

"He's Harry's godfather-"

"He really wasn't trying to kill your Seeker-"

"And he was stuck in Azkaban for years, even though he didn't-"

"I get it!" he retorted, trying not to roar. "It doesn't help the fact that I've been raised to think of him as-"

"He bought Harry his Firebolt," George said swiftly, with some insight.

Wood's expression subtly changed. "May that noble, honored man rest in peace," he said solemnly.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but George's pocket suddenly started talking. "Fletcher! 'Dung, get off your arse and answer me!"

He grinned sheepishly. "Er, he's passed out downstairs so I figured he wouldn't mind if I borrowed it," he muttered as he yanked a mirror out of his pocket.

"George! You stole that?" Ginny said incredulously, horrified.

George flinched guiltily. "Does it count as stealing if it's stolen from a thief?"

"Yes," she said witheringly. "What'll Fred say?"

"That it's Jenny's fault for telling us about the Prewetts?" he suggested.

Ginny paused, puzzled. "Prewett? You know that's Mum's maiden name, right?"

George dropped the mirror with a clang. His mouth dropped open and moved helplessly up and down, rather like that of a fish. "Wha- what?" he tried in confusion.

Wood picked the mirror up. "Yes, hello?"

The woman with short dark curls and a slightly rounded face looked at him in confusion. Then she turned around and shouted to someone who couldn't be seen. "Lupin! Some kid's got Fletcher's mirror!"

"Meaning not a Weasley?" a voice wondered. "Here, Hestia, you talk to Podmore, I'll see who it is."

The view of the mirror shifted as the woman complained, "Why do I always have to talk to Sturgis?"

"Because no one else will," the man said with bemusement, before his tired face came into view.

Wood blinked. "Professor Lupin?"

His former teacher looked at him with blatant surprise and some mild alarm. "Oliver Wood? The Gryffindor Keeper who didn't do his homework?"

"Erm..."

Lupin's eyebrows furrowed. "You didn't by any chance find this on a man who passed out dead drunk in front of you?"

"No, George took it, though I'm pretty sure the fellow _was_ passed out," Oliver said, adding to the confusion. "You're in the Order, sir?"

Remus blinked for a long moment, scrunching his eyes tight and rubbing his forehead. "Did a Miss Philips by any chance bring you to a certain house after telling you a rather wild story?"

"Yes! How'd you know?"

"I know her." Very faintly, Wood swore he heard him mutter, "I'll kill that woman," though his lips barely moved.

The professor cleared his throat. "My condolences about your parents, Oliver."

His face darkened. "Thank you, Professor," he said flatly.

"Could I speak to George Weasley, please?"

"Right. No, wait, I think he's swooned. Erm, Professor, are you really a-" he hesitated. Awkwardly, he flushed. "Never mind, here's Ginny."

He thrust the mirror at her, and she took it.

Remus frowned. "Tell me Jenny hasn't recruited you, too."

"Oh, no, I don't know enough spells yet anyway. What do you need, Professor?"

"Some ingredients which I thought Mundungus could gather, but then again I don't dare underestimate your brother's skill, and at least he'll be sober." Ginny noted that Oliver flinched at that as he lightly hit a staggering George, who looked as if he'd been dazed. "Look, I need Crup's Blood and some bezoars. Can he manage that?"

"Crup's Blood?" Ginny said with a frown. "That means Knockturn Alley." George, at that, nodded fervently and gave her a thumbs up. "He says no problem, we can manage it. What's this about, Professor?"

He smiled benignly at her. "Don't worry, but just know it's essential George acquires the ingredients as soon as possible and brings them to St. Mungo's. One thing, though- if you see anyone who seems to be asleep, or sleepy, or passed out- don't touch them, all right? And could you describe how Mundungus was passed out?"

George called out, "Oh, he's slumped on the floor blowing bubbles and singing songs that- er, that Ginny's tender ears shouldn't be hearing."

Remus heaved a sigh of relief. "Good. Be careful, all right? And Ginny- you'll be staying at Grimmauld Place."

She nodded. "Of course, Professor Lupin."

"Good." The mirror went blank, suddenly reflecting only her own face.

"All right," said George, grabbing Fred's extra all-purpose bag since his own was used recently in Blackpool. "Oliver, c'mon. Ginny, stay out of Moody's way for awhile."

She scoffed loudly. "Oh, please, you're not losing me that easily. I'm coming with you."

"But it will be dangerous," said Oliver with sincere concern, his dark hair flopping into his face as he tilted his head.

"I've fought Death Eaters in my own right. Knockturn Alley doesn't scare me," she said indignantly, flushing.

"You're staying," George said firmly, aiming his wand at her.

"I wonder what Mum'll think of you being at Knockturn Alley. In fact, does she even really know you're in the Order yet?" Ginny wondered innocently.

"I'll Silence you, Ginny," George warned. "This is Order business, and you told Remus that-"

Her own wand was out and aimed at him in an instant. "You'll try, you mean. I'm faster than you."

George tucked his wand in his jeans pocket and met her eyes rather seriously. "We're going to be Apparating."

"You secured a Floo connection to your store. I'll meet you there," she said confidently.

"Why can't you be more like Ron?" he snarled, heading for the hatch.

"He doesn't mean that," Ginny said sweetly to Oliver. "He's terribly proud I'm just like him."

"Hah!" George barked.

Oliver wasn't sure whether to sigh or grin, so he did both as they headed down.

Alicia Spinnet didn't think she'd ever flown with such desperation before in her life, not even in either of the Quidditch Cup games they'd won back at Hogwarts. She leaned nearly flat against the broom, plastered against it to avoid whatever spells kept flying over her head. She was relatively sure the back of her Cleansweep was on fire, whether from friction or a spell she couldn't be sure, but did not have the time to slow down, nor even fire back, for risk they would catch up. It seemed as if they'd been flying forever, and Alicia had not the slightest notion where they were beside somewhere over the Irish Sea in the general direction of Liverpool, maybe currently somewhere near the vicinity of Rhyl. She had never been so happy it was foggy and cloudy, since the current weather not only helped them gain a lead but prevented glimpses from curious Muggle eyes.

She wished they could Apparate, but knew perfectly well that Apparition could be halted easily by spells and fields which Angelina thought were in place. Alicia felt tears on her cheek, but didn't dare wipe them away, and couldn't stop thinking about the flash of green light they'd seen as they pulled away from the Holyhead Stadium. Worry threatened to consume her, but she fought it back.

Angelina, right beside her, shouted something.

Alicia, winded, cocked her head slightly to the right, trying to convey her incomprehension.

"Pucey!" Johnson hollered. "- swear - right - rian- ucey!"

Alicia blinked swiftly, then stole a risky look over her left shoulder at the Death Eaters chasing their heels. While one of the three looked bulky and older, the other two did seem to have a youthful build. She glanced to the one at the right, ducking a pink bolt that zoomed slightly too close for comfort. The robed, masked and slim figure did seem to have some of the erratic flying style she associated with former Slytherin Chaser Adrian Pucey. Her eyes narrowed. The jerk had asked her to the Yule Ball not two years back and here he was trying to kill her (well, she had turned him down)!

She cast another quick glance to the other youthful acolyte and bit her lip. "Flint?" she wondered to Angelina over the wind which whipped with a burn against her cheeks.

"L- ks -ike!" the pretty black girl shouted back, a cut on her shoulder where a Splitting Spell had narrowly grazed her. Her dark eyes flashed, taking in everything around them and analyzing it as swiftly as she did in a game. "-e ca-t -eep this up!"

They were in an impossible situation. The slim lead they had would evaporate the moment they tried to land, and there was nowhere nearby that was even remotely safe. And sooner or later, one of the shots, fired from a moving broom at a moving target, would, however blind, hit its mark. The girls were in true jeopardy.

Angelina was racking her brain for a Quidditch move that could save them. She was willing to risk a chance on Pucey and the Death Eater who might be Flint, but the older man, who had not raised his wand at them yet, was an unknown quantity who flew far too well for one with so large a frame and who'd easily darted out of the way of the few shots she'd sent back at him. He scared her. Whoever he was, he was the real thing, an actual Death Eater, not just a wannabe like Pucey. She'd never been all that confident in her skill as a captain, and she was not about to stake her own life, or Alicia's, on a hope she'd made the right decision. There wasn't going to be any fancy dives or dodges. No.

She asked herself the question that she'd used often in the past year. What would Oliver do? Her face furrowed. Well, he'd probably have them use a Woollongong Shimmy to confuse the other side even more- she paused. No, not the other side, the Death Eaters. Then Oliver would probably utilize a variation on the Porskoff Ploy to draw the Death Eaters off after one of them, allowing the other to escape for help. She considered it, briefly, desperately. Too many holes, she decided. It wouldn't be a problem to convey it to Alicia, since they'd worked together long enough to know each others' moves well, but the number of Death Eaters meant there were enough to follow both of them. And there was no Katie around to help and complete the play, nor would separating bring anything good their way. She shook her head. With nothing to prevent foul play, the rules of Quidditch didn't apply.

In that case... what would Fred and George do? Probably put out Alicia's broom, first, Fred's voice said bemusedly in her head. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to think of them and felt for the card in her pocket.

"""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""""""

A tap on her shoulder roused her from the lull her Transfiguration book had sent her into, and she turned, ready to rage at whoever had disturbed her studies for her N.E.W.T.s.

The oddest look was on Fred Weasley's face as he grinned at her absently, flopping down into the common room seat across the way. "How goes the books?"

"About as well as can be expected," she answered, frowning at him. "Go away." She turned back to her book, not failing to notice Fred clapping his hands to his heart and tumbling to the floor with a clang loud enough to make Parvati Patil give an annoyed, "Hmmph."

"You wound me grievously," he said from the floor, clutching at his chest. Angelina moved to kick him carelessly, and he jumped up at once. "Look, mon capitan, or would-be capitan if not for She-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named, can I have a moment of your time?"

She looked up. He widened his eyes to make them appear earnest. Heavily sighing, she set the book down. "What? And this better be quick."

"Oh, I'll be fast, I have to be somewhere at five anyways," he insisted, tugging on her arm. Reluctantly, she allowed him to yank her to her feet, then pulled her arm away.

Glancing back and forth warily, he grabbed her arm once more, despite her protests, and dragged her out of the sight of the rest of the Gryffindors until he yanked her down behind one of the spiral staircases leading up to the dormitory.

"What do you think you're doing?" Angelina demanded, annoyed. He was slightly too close for her to be comfortable.

He looked mildly confused. "Talking without being overheard. I didn't reckon the Room of Requirement was a good idea, since everybody and his brother knows about that what with D.A. meetings and all, and clearly you wouldn't be happy if I dragged you up to one of the dormitories...erm, that came out wrong," Fred said abruptly, flushing slightly.

"What is it you-"

"What're you doing after school?" he asked suddenly.

She stared at him. "It is after school, Fred. And I have Quidditch practice most days, remember?" She flinched slightly at the thought of it, since the last practice had not gone right in the slightest, none of the old easy comfort and camaraderie there had been the year they won the Quidditch Cup, more of an awkwardness, particularly with the new Beaters and Keeper and the ever-felt absence of Harry.

"'S not what I mean," he said, rubbing his hair. "After this year, that is. I've been meaning to ask you, but you keep avoiding the topic."

She gave him an annoyed look. "It's not like you've been around, at all. You and George have been spending all your time with those sniveling snacks-"

"Skiving Snackboxes," he corrected.

"Right, those, and you're never in class anyhow, not to mention the fact that you're no longer on the Quidditch team-"

"It's completely unfair that I never got to actually do anything that merited getting kicked off," he interjected.

She winced. "Not to mention you've been spending your lunches wandering around the Great Hall conscripting first years as testers without attracting Hermione's attention, or sitting with-"

"We've moved up to third years, actually," he commented. "We have to pay them more, but they give better descriptions of how it made them feel. And they actually buy our products."

"We never even see you anymore," she interjected coolly. "It's like you're already gone."

He paused, tilting his head at her with quite a serious look in his eye. "'Pose we did take all the time we spent together at practice for granted. But it's not like we've dropped off the face of the earth."

"Only a matter of time," she remarked.

He blinked at her. "I forgot what I asked you," he said softly.

She shook her head in mock dismay. "What I'm doing after I graduate," Angelina prompted, braids swaying.

"Right!" he said enthusiastically, then waited. "So?" he asked.

"Playing Quidditch, I hope. Though if we don't hang onto the Cup, I don't know what chance I'll have of getting signed to any decent team," she remarked, dark eyes suddenly downcast.

"I didn't do anything," he protested, since he felt suddenly guilty.

She grinned. "Not for lack of trying. So, why'd you ask?"

"Ask... Ask wha- oh, right. Well, I figured I'd want to see you, 'cause, y'know..." He stopped, looking confused.

Angelina put her hands on her hips, looking impatient.

"I'll, er, oh, miss you. But I guess you're right. I haven't seen you much." He looked at a corner in the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief. "Mum was right," he remarked with some surprise.

"Your mother usually is. About what?" she asked, tapping her foot.

"'To assume makes an ass out of you and me,'" he quoted, then looked horrified. "Not that I'm implying that- "

A smile began to creep up Angelina's face, but she pushed it back. "Right. Not that I'm even going to pretend to follow your twisted line of thought, but that bit I follow. Mostly. What did you assume?"

"Rats," Fred muttered. He shuffled his feet a bit. "That, er, you and me, were, well, you and me," he said somewhat desperately.

Angelina blinked, multiple times.

He looked very unhappy. "I kind of guessed you knew that I think that you- that I feel like- that- well- I suppose-," his voice began to crack as he reached more desperate tones, "I mean- I'm trying to ask that- well- DAMN IT, DO YOU LOVE ME BACK OR NOT?!!" He then clamped his hands over his mouth, darting brown eyes going suddenly wide.

Seamus Finnigan, walking up the stairs, stopped abruptly and leaned to look under, then quickly scurried off before Fred Weasley could notice and turn him into a giant canary.

Fred whacked himself on the head, hard, which meant he'd removed his hands from his mouth. "Way to go, Weasley," he muttered to himself, dragging his hand slowly down his face and turning away from her slightly. The back of his neck had turned scarlet. "Make her think you're more off your rocker than she already thought you were. Swell. Yet another act of idioc-"

"You can't be in love with me!" Angelina sputtered suddenly.

He swiveled back, eyebrows furrowing. "I am too! I absolutely am! Why can't I be?" He leaned forward slightly.

She stepped back, nearly banging her head against the wall. "B-Because it's ridiculous!"

"I'm ridiculous? The idea of you with me is ridiculous?" he demanded, seeking clarification.

"NO! Yes- well, I don't know but that's not what I meant!" she responded in exasperation. "Where is this even coming from? It's not like I'm your girlfriend-"

"You're not?" he said with a frown.

"No! You're my friend and teammate- usually- and- and you never even asked me, or asked me on a date-"

Fred considered. "There was the Yule Ball," he commented. "We had fun."

"But you didn't- I mean- you acted as if we were- you almost didn't even remember to ask me-"

"I resent that! I-"

Angelina clasped her hands to her head. "It's- you don't just declare you're in love with somebody out of the blue when you haven't given me the slightest indication-"

"Sure I have," he said readily. "Haven't I?"

She shook her head, sending her braids flying all about and crashing into each other. Her heart was racing so quickly she felt certain it would burst.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "You had to have known I liked you, Angelina. Everybody else did."

"Well, maybe," she admitted. "Katie and Alicia thought that...it doesn't matter what they thought, but then you never said anything, or asked me to a Hogsmeade weekend-"

"I would have if you hadn't had Quidditch practice on bleedin' Valentine's Day!" he insisted, looking wounded. "And besides, Lee likes you and I - well, it made it awkward-"

"I don't like Lee!" Angelina responded, horrified. "Well, as a person, but not the way you mean!"

"Well, I know that," he scoffed, pulling a face. "But that's not answering my question!"

She took a deep breath and put her hand over his mouth so he wouldn't interrupt, earning her an indignant look. "Fred, sometimes- no, most of the time- you act just like a little boy! You don't take things seriously, and you hurt Ron's feelings without even thinking about it which hurts his performance as Keeper which hurts me, and you treat me the same way you did when we were eleven which most of the time I don't mind- but- but we're seventeen and I'm not sure if that's too soon to say you're in love or too late to be beginning to date since Ginny has already been on more dates than I ever have in the time I've known her! And you're saying you're in love with me with nothing to back it up or ever having really kissed m-"

Fred had gone very still when she was speaking. His eyes, which always seemed to be laughing at her, were filled with something she couldn't identify as they danced about. In a sudden, fluid motion which seemed to take an eternity, he removed her hand from his mouth and leaned down the slight distance between their heights to kiss her.

Angelina wasn't certain whether it was mere moments or a considerably longer time later when a familiar voice began to chortle from nearby. Fred's eyes turned to look, and both pulled away from each other very rapidly.

George, with a few fading red welts on his cheeks and arms and carrying a covered bundle of struggling something, grinned at them as he peered under the stairs. "'Ello," he managed, before dissolving in laughter again.

Angelina flushed, darkening her cheeks even more. Then she wheeled, something of a fury in her eye, on Fred, who looked half dazed and half enraged at his brother. "I should slap you," she told him as angrily as she could. "I was yelling at you, and you didn't even _ask_."

Fred looked briefly horrified, then glanced at his brother. "Are you meant to ask?" he wondered.

George could barely even breathe after that, nearly falling over.

"Well, you didn't slap me, and I do love you," Fred told her.

George groaned, sitting up. "You didn't go and tell her that!"

"You are not," Angelina ordered, fixing her hair.

"Aren't I?" Fred demanded of his brother.

His twin looked in him in horror. "Don't involve me! You're the one who enjoys playing with things that blow up in your face, I prefer it to blow up in someone else's face!"

Angelina scowled at him. "What's that meant to imply?"

"Nothing!" George said at once, eyes searching for an escape. "Just that-"

Fred grinned, continuing, "-you can sometimes be a bit-"

"Volatile," George finished with a wince. "And you'll have to forgive Fred, he can be something of a dunce-"

"Though in that, my brother excels far more than I," Fred said, with a dark look, "particularly in-"

"Entering into situations where his presence is neither needed nor desired?" George suggested. "Unfortunately, he has to come with me." He gave Fred a mockingly furious look. "After leaving me to go after the Whomping Willow myself."

Fred scrunched up his face and went pale. Then he grinned, stepping forward to snatch the bundle from George. "This?"

"What you think it is," George confirmed, and Angelina eyed it suspiciously as a few leaves stuck out of the blanket covering the thrashing, stick like shape. She had a sinking suspicion the Whomping Willow would be found to be missing a bough.

"Then that's everything," Fred said happily. "What ti-"

"Half past four," his twin answered promptly.

His eyebrows rose and Fred looked somewhat panicked. He pulled at his brother's robes, blew Angelina a kiss, and shouted, "We better hurry up, then! Pick up the pace, George, you slacker!"

George bowed gallantly as his brother thundered over to and up the spiral staircase leading to the seventh years boys' dormitory, and offered his hand to Angelina to help her out of the alcove under the stairs. "He'll remember you in a bit," he assured her. "We're a bit pressed at the moment- business is booming, so we've decided to cut one of the pressures on our time." At her curious look, he told her mysteriously, "You'll see soon enough. Make sure you're at the corridor near the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, east wing, in a bit. Bring Katie and Alicia. Oh, Fred's given you a whole package of Skiving Snackboxes and a few other products, they're on your bed," he told her.

"What are you going to do?" Angelina demanded with suspicious alarm.

He shrugged. "It was his idea, usually is, so blame him, not me."

"Usually do," she told him, grinning.

He smiled, looking, to her at least, very distinguishably different from Fred. "It'll be perfectly lovely having you as a sister someda-"

"Don't you dare, George Weasley," she said in a highly threatening tone.

He grinned again. "Just in case Fred got his words tangled up around you, while I have no such problem, he's crazy about you and you should know that. Anyway, he intended to give you this." George held up his hand in an odd position, turned it in the air and suddenly produced a card. He handed it to her gracefully.

She eyed it suspiciously.

_Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!_

_Enter at Leisure, Exit Without Purchase at Peril_

_Number 93 Diagon Alley_

_(Don't Scratch the Gold Bar Below! Really!)_

_(We Mean It!)_

George explained casually, "It's reverse psychollogicy. Hermione explained it, kind of. Really, though, don't scratch it in Hogwarts or if another person's holding it too. Dead serious. Very bad voodoo could res-"

"George!" Fred bellowed desperately from somewhere above.

He waved, and as he backed away, added, "He really cares about you. As much as you do about him. He just isn't good at showing it. Neither am I, for that matter, but at least I'm better at hidi-"

"Is it Katie or Alicia?" she asked calmly.

He bolted.

Angelina stared at the card, then frowned slightly. "He isn't in love with me," she muttered. She cast a glance at the stairs, then shook her head slightly. "He can't be."

"""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""""""""

"-o -ave a -ut?"

Alicia cast a confused glance towards her friend as she urged her broom on.

"A KNUT!" Angelina screamed.

Spinnet had been drilled to accept a captain's orders (mainly by a very red-faced Wood) since she'd first scrambled onto a broomstick. Bewildered as she might be, she trusted her. Reluctantly, she pried one hand off the broom to pull a coin out of her pocket with trembling hands. She hoped a Sickle would do as she tossed it over.

The silver coin arced over to Angelina, narrowly avoiding the spell which covered a few of her long, flying braids with some sort of slimy substance. She caught it deftly, locking her legs tighter about the broom and leaning forward as she rapidly and frantically scratched off the gold line. She hoped she knew the minds of the Weasley twins as well as she thought she did. The card lit up with a faintly golden light, and she gestured swiftly to Alicia.

Her friend frowned, but extended her hand as told. She had to slow slightly to meet Angelina's own hand, and cast an anxious look over her shoulder, shuddering at the closeness of the Death Eaters and the sudden, close-shave green bolts being fired by the large masked man in the center.

A card was passed into her waiting hand, just in time for Alicia to feel a sudden tug forward from, seemingly, her navel. Angelina tried to release her hand, but Alicia reached her other hand over to attempt to force Angelina to hang on to the Portkey.

"Don't!" her former captain protested, grabbing onto Alicia's wrist just as firmly and forcing her to hold onto the card.

Pucey, staring at the two Quidditch players as they neared them, wondered why they seemed to be fighting each other.

"Avada Kedavra!" Macnair shouted, a green light emerging from his wand and speeding in the direction of the two Harpies.

Both girls were suddenly pulled forward, the world spinning around them as they suddenly hurtled somewhere else, the hands of both on the card as they attempted to shove it at the other.

The green bolt passed harmlessly over two brooms which hung idle in the air, one looking burnt slightly and the other looking equally worse for the wear.

Their three pursuers pulled to a stop, looking about confusedly, but there was nothing to see. Both girls were gone, on a Portkey never intended for more than one soul.

Healers in lime green robes bustled about Bill Weasley, who swallowed, being quite sick of the color and never wanting to see anything in that shade again for the rest of his life. He longed to get out of bed, and cast a wary glance at his mother, chatting animatedly with a nodding apprentice Healer. Things would have been much easier if she'd gone with his father to get Kingsley and Elphias, but she refused to leave him. How simply delightful.

"Hey," he said hoarsely to one woman examining his chest, which made him feel quite awkward. "Did you see where the girl who was here just a minute ago went? Long silvery hair, French accent, very noticeable?"

The Healer looked blank. "I'm sorry, didn't see her."

"Damn," said Bill, trying to fight the image of healthy, better paid young Healers clustered about Fleur trying to impress her with their miraculous, life-saving feats.

Mrs. Weasley turned slightly. "Bill, don't swear," she scolded.

"Damn is not swearing," he fumed. "Bollocks is swearing. Bugger is swearing! Bloody soddin' hell is swear-" Bill stopped, quailing slightly under his mother's murderous glare and the shocked looks of the Healers. "All right, all right, I'll just lay back and be quiet, shall I?"

Remus Lupin suddenly swept into the room. He glanced at Bill, and seemed about to speak but hesitated in face of the Healers. He did a double-take when he saw Mrs. Weasley, who turned to face him.

"Remus," she said warmly.

"Molly," he said puzzledly, frowning. He chose his words carefully. "I thought you were going to accompany Arthur."

"Oh, no," she said immediately. "I'm certainly not leaving my eldest son alone." Bill let out a moan at that. Molly interpreted it differently. "He's still in pain."

Remus winced sympathetically at the young man's pained face. "I'm sure. Arthur's alone, then?" He eyed the Healers. "I'm not sure that's wise, considering that you've already been attacked.

"Oh, Dawlish, a friend of Kingsley Shacklebolt's, went with him," Molly said immediatly.

"Dawlish," Lupin repeated carefully. "An... interesting gentleman."

His head ringing as a strong grip settled on his arm, Kingsley only heard some of what was said. The chuckle, though, sounded familiar. "Greg?" he managed, spitting out a tooth as he did so. "Gregory Dawlish?"

"One and only, mate," his cocky, sometimes friend replied.

"Am I dead?" he wondered.

"Gee, hope not, since that'd set me right there with you, wouldn't it? What the hell happened to you, Shacklebolt?"

That was a good question, Kingsley decided, uncertain of the answer himself. His right eye didn't seem to want to open, so he studied his surroundings with the partially closed left. Hogwarts hospital wing, tucked into one of the many, crowded beds. He seemed to be in a lot of pain, he realized in a far corner of his mind, and he couldn't feel his legs. He blinked, deciding to sidestep the question. "What are you doing here?" he asked his friend, remembering he had graduated the year before. "And what happened to your hair?"

Dawlish's hand went defensively to his auburn hair, once curly, cut to a short, bristly length, but that didn't stop him from puffing out his chest with pride. "Auror trainee number six fifty two, currently ranked first in his class, here to kick the arses of the Slytherins who have stepped out of line, thank you kindly."

"Your grades did get you in, then," Kingsley managed, his thoughts not particularly clear but drifting suddenly to hoping he'd still get to take his N.E.W.T.s, as he realized Aurors were swarming all about the wing.

"Oh, yeah, that," Dawlish said dismissively, as if all Outstandings in his N.E.W.T.s was something of the distant past. "So what happened? That Longbottom kid's busy babbling to my boss of exactly how fantastic you are, so I'd like all the details, all right? I'd like to know what my competition's got up his sleeve."

Kingsley gave him a blank look.

"Your duel, Kingsley! With the lady who just offed herself?" Dawlish prompted. "I mean, from what the kids have been saying, you've just about impressed ol' hellfire Mad-Eye Mo-"

He froze as a grizzled hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Dawlish! Did you go and wake this boy up?"

"Er, yes, sir. I mean, no, sir!" he added in abject horror.

A hawk-like gaze suddenly fixed on him. "Get," growled a voice. "Head to Slytherin house. You can have the pleasure of waking the Baron up."

The recent graduate winced, pausing to notice the look of awe spreading over Kingsley's incredibly battered face.

"She did a number on you, all right," the man said in his snarl of a voice. "Never had a chance against her, though, boy- twice your age, if half your height, and head filled with curses you've never even heard of. If I've told Albus once, I've told him every time I see the stubborn fool, you children ought to have a basic understanding of what you're gonna face out there- get going, Dawlish!- Now tell me, Shacklebolt, have you ever considered a career as a- I said, get a move on!- as an Auror?"

He shook his head. "Vonn Donn said my grades were only good enough for cauldron making," he managed dopily, swaying in the small bed woozily.

"Metternich! Pah!" the man scoffed. "I'm Alastor Moody, Shacklebolt, and from what I've heard, you've got chops- though we'll have to work on your vigilance, and I'm telling you, you're coming to work for me. Assuming we get some Healers over here before you croak!" he roared, turning in the direction of some bustling Healers. He paused when he realized they weren't heading over and his command, then gripped the arm of a small dark haired girl trying to bandage the head of a dazed boy with glasses. "You! McKinnon! Work on this one! Now-" His eyes flashed menacingly and he whacked at Dawlish with a stick. "Get a move on! This second, boyo! ...Ah, where was I? Right, telling you what a bloody fine job you did!"

"But what did I do?" Kingsley wondered woozily.

Moody cackled. "You defended a group of helpless innocents, or at least attempted to, and from what I've heard managed to quite well. Now, we'll see if we can get you- Dawlish! Move!"

"Yes, sir, Moody, sir!"

McKinnon, trying to bandage Kingsley's cuts, was tugged back towards the boy with glasses by a boy with raven black hair, who tried to avoid Moody's sight. "This way, Marlene," he barked, since the real Healers were busy tending to those under the effects of the Draught of Living Death.

She nodded and headed back across the room, casting a wary gaze at the distracted Alastor as she slipped away.

A boy with dusky brown hair and shadowed eyes laughed quietly to himself as he observed the bustling room.

"Well, he's an Auror and a former student of Alastor Moody's, as well as a Ministry employee, and since Arthur deemed this Ministry business," Molly said just as carefully, "Dawlish was the obvious choice."

"Certainly," Remus said calmly. "When will they arrive, do you think?"

"Oh, you have a while, Arthur didn't leave that long ago," Molly assured him.

Bill sat suddenly up as Fleur Delacour swept back into the room. "Monsieur Lupin," she said with a nod and smile. Then she turned to Bill, raising the tray. "Zey did not 'ave any champagne or wines. 'Ow disappointing, non?" She offered him a soda and a sandwich. She cast an obnoxious look at the Healers who hovered about. "Pardon, don't you all 'ave somewhere else to be? Some patients, perhaps? I believe 'e would like to sleep, would 'e not?"

"Frankly, he'd just like them to leave," Bill said grumpily, but brightened as he took a bite of the sandwich. "Fleur! You actually managed to get some decent food in this place!"

She shrugged, daintily sipping her own drink. "Ze gentleman was very accommodating. Iz zere anything else you need?"

"Nah, I'm good," Bill said, beaming.

Mrs. Weasley watched them very carefully. "A lovely girl, don't you think?" she said softly to Remus. "Of course, she does have some veela blood, which I've heard can make for a rather violent temperament, but overall sweet. Bill should be settling down soon, you know. When his father and I were his age, he was already born and Charlie was on the way."

Remus nodded rather absently, then moved forward, interrupting the two, who seemed to be laughing over something Fleur had said. "Excuse me, Miss Delacour? I believe I could use your assistance with something."

She smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth. "You need only ask eet, and I am at your service. Eef it wasn't for you, I wouldn't even know zat Bill was en ze hospital."

Remus looked about carefully, insuring the indignant Healers had all left the room, then lifted his wand to silently close the door. Quietly, he told her, "I need you to use your, ahem, persuasive talents in order to get me into the brewery. I have work that needs to be done there." He pulled a ragged piece of parchment from his robe pocket, on which he'd rapidly reconstructed a list of ingredients needed for the potion. "Do you think that would be possible?"

Bill raised an eyebrow.

The French girl tilted her head slightly. "Oui. Eet is, how do you say... ah, yes, a piece of cake."


	20. Checkmate

Alicia found herself tumbling into a darkened store, which, while quite unfamiliar, did not seem so, since she knew many of the projects far too well and had, in fact, had a good number of them unwittingly tested on her. She glanced about with mild alarm, for Angelina was no where to be seen, and there was shouts, loud and unhappy coming from outside the building. Drawing her wand, which had luckily come with her stuck in her sleeve, she stepped to the side of the door and threw it open, awaiting whatever came barreling in. She was prepared, whatever it might be.

She didn't anticipate Lee Jordan and an eager horde of children, teenagers, and annoyed parents who'd come hurtling into the store with maniacal glee.

"'LO, LEESH!" Lee shouted over the crowd, grinning, flicking on the lights with a touch of his wand to a slightly discolored spot on the wall. "Didn't expect to see you as shopkeeper, where's Fred and George? They weren't open yesterday, which is tragic, there was a good big and really annoyed Hogwarts bunch swarming about, and I had to stop that Thomas kid and the Finnigan boy who's taking over as announcer from breaking the window. Fred would've been really mad, they spent an awful lot of money. Say, you all right, you look terrible, y'know. Seen Angelina lately, has she mentioned me, and what on earth are you wearing?" Alicia didn't think he'd actually taken a breath throughout his jabbering.

Spinnet considered her options. She stared at her hands, wondering if she was dreaming or dead, but probably not, considering she didn't think Lee Jordan would be showing up in any of her dreams, however wild, and certainly not in the afterlife yet, as far as she knew. She swayed slightly, feeling sick to her stomach from her sudden drop and feeling her hands were skinned from the hard landing on the floor.

"What's that in your hand?" Lee wondered, plucking it from her with casual ease, his dreadlocks dancing about his cheerful face. "One of their cards-or, half of one- uh-oh, you are meant to be here, aren't you? You did intend to come here?"

She shook her head, dazed but becoming more focused by the second. "That card thing, that takes you here?"

"Right. Interesting marketing strategy, unless it turns your stomach inside out, but apparently it doesn't, since you're breathing. Where'd you get one? George wouldn't even give me one yet, and I've been here almost everyday, since I'm right across at Quidditch Qual-"

"Angelina had one," Alicia said, noticing in the corner of her eye a bunch of gleeful little boys eyeing their younger sister as they begged their mother to purchase some Nosebleed Nougats. She would have moved to stop them, but her concern suddenly became more intense as clarity returned. "We were at Quidditch practice-"

"Angelina had one?" Lee repeated mournfully. "That can't be good. She's not-"

"Quiet! I need to get in touch with the Ministry, it's an emergency-"

Lee's dark face colored with alarm. "Say, you aren't going to turn in Fred and George for making a few little-"

"NO!" Alicia demanded, then quietly hissed, "We were being chased by Death Eaters on our brooms and we couldn't get away and we were both holding the card and now I'm here and she isn't!"

"Oh dear," Lee said with concern, "two of you tried to use one- hold a tic, did y' just say Death Eaters?"

"Yes!"

"And she's still there?"

Alicia looked at the half of the card in her hand. "I don't think so. I'm pretty sure we were both tugged out of there."

Lee breathed a sigh of relief. "That's not so bad, then," he assured her. "I mean, worst case scenario, she's in the Sahara, right? So you just report the attack, and George and Fred and I'll take care of finding her, and you maybe shouldn't mention the card. Say you Apparated here, maybe."

"Everyone knows Death Eaters put up anti-Disapparating wards!" Alicia told him in a whisper, noticing an attentive little boy licking a Blood-flavored Lollipop very nonchalantly trying to listen in while examining a case of water pellets.

"Well, maybe these were dumb ones. Look, there's a fireplace in the back room," Lee told her, "but I wouldn't advise using it to contact the Ministry."

"Why not?" Alicia insisted, hands on hips.

"They won't let firecalls through from here. Too many crank calls while they were setting up the place," Lee informed her, barely managing a straight face at the thought.

Alicia poked him in the chest, which surprised Lee and staggered him, knocking him into some small children pleading with their parents for a Skiving Snackbox. Alicia usually was the least aggressive of the Gryffindor girls on the Quidditch team, doubling his confusion. "Look here, Katie's father's assistant head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and she's working there this summer, _she'll_ take whatever bloomin' call I send at them. Back room. Now."

George Weasley and Oliver Wood suddenly caused a disturbance by Apparating in the middle of the room, Ginny Weasley, considerably too young to Apparate, popping into the room in a burst of flame which was definitely not from Floo Powder.

"Hey, it worked," George said, with less enthusiasm than usual, as Ginny handed him a small red dart with a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Can I do it again?" she asked eagerly.

"Only if you head to Aruba and promise never to come back," he told her sweetly.

"OY!" said Oliver loudly, hitting them both. They whirled, staring at the crowd gathered in their shop which watched them with open mouths.

George swallowed, then held up the small red dart. "Disapparating Darts, ladies and gentlemen, kiddies, going on sale at a Galleon a pop next week, allowing capability to leave and arrive at your leisure without having to be seventeen or pass yet another annoying test. I'm half of the proprietor, in case you didn't know, and what you've just seen was a demonstration. Speak to my sister, you can place advance orders with her and she'll tell you more about the new products coming to our store."

Ginny shot him a horrified look as he took this opportunity to steer her behind the register. "What do you think you're doing?" his sister demanded, shoving his hands off her shoulders. "I am not going to sit here and play shop while you go off to Kn... that place!" she amended, with a glance at the customers.

"Someone needs to," George informed her, "and it can't be me, I'm the one who knows my way around that particular avenue."

Ginny crossed her arms. "You're not leaving me here."

Both redheads suddenly flicked their eyes over to Wood, who was fending off a group of eager, bouncing children who seemed to recognize him. As if sensing danger, he jerked his head around, and read their expressions. "No," he said, in a fully horrified voice which brokered no argument, a tone George knew far too well from the Quidditch field.

"What exactly would have inspired Fred to open the shop without you, anyways?" Ginny demanded.

Her brother frowned at her. "No way Fred did..." He trailed off, his eye catching on Lee Jordan, who was sheepishly ducking his head, and the confused, gaping girl with charred Quidditch robes standing next to her. He shoved his sister towards the counter in one smooth push. "Collect the nice people's money for just a moment, would you?" he pleaded, bobbing his head at the gathering line. "Oliver?"

"Godric, what now..." He too cut off abruptly as he glanced at the pair. "Great. It's a bloody reunion."

"George!" Lee said, apparently audibly relieved as his friend glowered at him. "Where've you been, mate? Your shop's been shut-"

"Not on the whole too surprising," George commented. "After all, it isn't everyday men in masks storm your house wanting to kill you, unless you're Fudge. Hi, Alicia, how's life?"

"Swell. If you don't include being chased by madmen on broomsticks. And I'm not referring to Wood and his friends. You?"

"Same."

"And Oliver?"

The dark-haired young man shrugged, casting his glance down. "Likewise."

She nodded, grabbing Lee's arm. "I think I'm going to sit down now."

George cast a look at her, and his brow furrowed. He stopped shooting death glares at Lee. "Back room?"

Jordan nodded fervently. "Very, very good idea." George, casting a surrepticious glance about the shop, flicked his wand and mumbled, and Alicia, though clearly weak in the knees, suddenly found herself marching with perfect posture towards the back of the shop. Lee moved to follow, only to find George's wand poking the front of his chest in a friendly manner, only barely emerging from his friend's sleeve in a way few would notice.

The twin beamed at him in a way that did not strike Lee as quite sincere. "I don't suppose you'd happened to have opened the doors for business this morning, did you?"

His friend shook his head immediatly, sending his dreadlocks flying. "Nope. Alicia did." He dropped the card into George's hand.

"This can't be for the best," he commented mildly, pocketing his wand. "Stay here, Lee. Don't let anyone else in the shop."

"Even if they're holding a sack full of Galleons?"

"Yes. Even if... no, then do let them in," said George guiltily. He leaned over to tip his occupied sister's chin up as he passed the counter. "Smile, Ginny. Accentuate the positive."

"But I don't play for Pride of Portree!" Wood told Alicia with exasperation, as she held her head in her hands. They sat on two comfortable, expensive chairs surrounded by piles of boxes and crates which they eyed as if they might explode at any moment, which they very well could.

"All of Hogwarts thinks you do," she said mildly.

He fumed. "You should have figured it out, considering your team'll be playing mine in, oh, about a week! If any of you bothered to look up anything-"

"Well, we did, just under the wrong team. Katie figured you weren't good enough to make the papers."

His mouth dropped open. "Wasn't- wasn't- good enough?" he sputtered. He wheeled on George as the younger boy entered. Surprisingly, he calmed slightly instead of turning redder. "Right, then. Some of our buddies in masks jumped the Harpies at practice and took off after Angelina and Alicia."

George turned several shades paler as he glanced at the card. "Whoops. You didn't _both_ try to use this card?"

Alicia glared at him, sitting up straighter. "Angelina tried to give it to just me, which would have left her there with those butchers. You think I'm going to let her just hand me some sort of escape and abandon her there?"

George blinked. "So you fought over it and it- ripped?"

"It didn't rip until after it started working," she informed him.

"And Angelina didn't show up here? Not even, erm, a piece of her? The lower half, maybe?"

The horror on both their faces led him to close his mouth. He studied the card. "This isn't good," he said nervously. "She's probably in England. Somewhere. But, see, there are about a dozen laws against illegal Portkey tr- you father's in the Ministry, isn't he, Alicia?" he asked suddenly.

She sighed. "No, George, you've got me mixed up with Katie. _Again._ And while I am planning on calling them, that thing technically saved our lives. I'm not going to have you prosecuted because of it."

He brightened. "In that case, understand that this isn't technically a Portkey, since the charm's too complicated and we sort of cheated. Still, the Department of Magical Travel has all sorts of nasty little charms to trace such things. We've got wards in place here- but, well, the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol's probably picked up Angelina by now."

"Really?" said Oliver in a worried tone. "They can put her on probation from her team for that... I'm being quiet now."

"But once they hear her story, they'll let her go immediately, right?" Alicia said hopefully.

Wood gave her a look. "She's a professional Quidditch player. The Patrol hates us with a passion. I'm surprised you don't know that yet. They think we're all drunken gloryhounds with a penchant for smashing things, including the women. It's probably since half of them wanted to be us, and didn't make it. They arrest us just on principle, and they don't believe a word we say. It won't help that she's Muggle-born and doesn't have strings to pull."

"You sound like you're talking from experience," George commented.

"Last summer was... interesting," Wood commented dryly. Then his eyes took on a wistful look. "I've heard the Muggles let their professional athletes off scott clean, just on principle." He sighed. "Some days I envy them."

"You'll go look for her, won't you, George?" Alicia said, suddenly worried, in a tone somewhere between a plea and a threat.

He looked stricken. "We sold an awful lot of our products to Mundungus Fletcher and his friends," he commented. "It's a slight possibility they may have used them on the Patrol. So they might not like me much."

"How slight a possibility?" Oliver wondered.

"A completely definite one."

"I dislike that kind," Wood said with a nod. "What about Fred?"

"If I knew where he was, I wouldn't tell him. You want me to inform him that a card that I gave the girl he's mad about may have led to a run in with the law? What, you think I'm suicidal?" George asked.

"Somedays," Wood and Alicia chorused, with surprised glances at each other.

"And there is that other thing," George added, with a sidelong glance at Oliver.

"Right, that thing," Oliver said, remembering.

"It can't possibly be as important as saving Angelina!" Alicia burst out.

"Well, if she did happen to land in Patrol custody, she'll be as snug as a bug in a rug," George assured her.

She stood, infuriated, her face pinkening as her hands balled into fists. "George Weasley, if you don't go out and get her back right now, I'll have your sister tell not only Fred, but your mother, exactly whose fault it is about whatever happens to Angelina Johnson!"

Wood's head snapped up. "I've seen your mum lose her temper. It isn't pretty. And do you remember what Fred did to that fellow Angelina fancied back in second year who was completely unaware she existed? And that only hurt her emotionally."

George shuddered at the memory. As close as he and his brother were, he knew perfectly well that if he was perceived as responsible for any harm that came to Angelina, Fred would gladly strangle him. Grudgingly, he sighed. "I'll get Lee to help me search. You'll have to get the stuff for Lupin, Oliver."

"Professor Lupin?" Alicia repeated with a suspicious look, while Wood, in horror, exclaimed, "Me? Find all that stuff on Knockturn Alley? Me?!"

"Well, I know you're pathetically straight-laced, but yeah." George, realizing what he would have to do, made a face. "You'll have to take Ginny with you."

"Drag that innocent little girl down Knockturn Alley!?"

"Yep. She's fought more Death Eaters than you, survived being possessed by a dark evil one more time than you can claim, and she can haggle for a price." Taking a deep breath, he said with effort, "Plus, she's at least half as good as we were at that age. _Never tell her I said that_. So, yep. Alicia, since they're after you, stay here. I… don't think calling the Ministry, even Katie, is our best option, really. Get in touch with McGonagall or Dumbledore, if you called anyone else they could probably trace you back to here."

"I don't know how to get in touch with them at their residences!" Alicia protested.

George scanned the room, and snatched up a very long, ragged piece of parchment with scribbles all over it. "Here. Pretty much everyone we've ever wanted to prank who has a fireplace has their firecall listing here. I'd recommend not calling Snape, though. He doesn't take kindly to being disturbed at home."

"As for the people in the shop?" Wood wondered.

It looked as if it physically pained George to say it. "I'll kick them all out. Including the rich ones. Hopefully, they've already made their purchases." He scuffled his foot on the ground. "Shoot. I wish I could go with you. Knockturn Alley. It's such a cheery place. I always feel like I belong there."

Wood edged by him as he headed back into the shop.

_Meanwhile, near the island-located prison of Azkaban_

She hadn't expected to be led here. A deep hatred for the place rose up in her, but no fear. She'd never feared the place, nor the dementors. She had been their mistress once, and she knew one day they would obey her again. She hated the human warden, and the confinement of the bars, her true jailers. They may have stolen her youth, but not her power. The dementors had only made it dormant, and it had awoken again with a fire in her chest when her master came to free her. Her brother-in-law, foolish though easily manipulated, was there once more. This was an opportunity, not only to punish her impudent captor but to free him, should a chance arise. Her lip curved into a sneer. Rabastan was a fool, a colossus of sheer brute strength and stupidity, but he was useful. He worshipped the ground she walked on, as well as idolizing his clever younger brother. Randall, the youngest, had been clever as well, but too ambitious. Had he not been so impatient to add kills to his name, he would never have gone on the ambush of the Prewetts and lost his life. Odd. It did not seem very long ago, although it had seemed the years patiently waiting for her master in rotting Azkaban had taken an eternity. For the time His return had taken, which would have been greatly reduced had she remained free, Philips would be punished, if for nothing else. It was a slight on her honor that the girl, a mere companion to greater foes, had been the one to capture her.

Bellatrix Lestrange, once called Black, smiled grimly. Her master had honored her, and her alone, with the right to handle Philips as she saw fit. She would die at the same hand which had struck down her former lover. The very thought of her cousin's death filled Bellatrix with an elated glow. The blood traitor had paid at last, and soon, all those he had cared for in life would be struck down until his very memory was lost for all time.

The boy accompanying Philips, a Weasley by his restored red hair, gave the woman a skeptical look as he took the folded half-circle of cloth she gave him. They sat on a skerry a bit aways from looming Azkaban, shielded from the larger isle by some concealment spell the infernal woman had set in place but which did not hide them from the eyes of Voldemort's favored one. His loud, obnoxious voice carried across to where Bellatrix stood, draped in a cloak of invisibility, on a jagged rock which emerged from the water, which the waves did not touch. She didn't wish to get wet.

"You sure this isn't just going to make my hair disappear?"

"Yes!" the woman shouted over the roar of the waves. "But it wears out, unlike an invisibility cloak. It's woven around a piece of metal chipped from an invisibility helmet worn by the necromancer Hades in Greece. Now put it on!"

Bellatrix raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. If Philips had attained anything once in the hands of a wizard who worked to raise the dead, her master would find it interesting. The woman had changed. Observing her might prove useful. But she wanted her vengeance. And she desired a true challenge to test her dark powers on, not just her pitiful cousin, whose skills were as wasted as he had been.

"If this makes me bald, you'll regret this!" the boy shouted, and tentatively placed it on his head. True to Philips' word, he vanished. Bellatrix spelled her eyes with the Dark magic that usually enabled her to see those under an Invisibility Cloak, but she could not. Only the rain which perpetually fell under the dark skies of Azkaban revealed the slightest outline of his shape to her. She frowned as Philips did the same.

"How're we getting across?" Weasley's voice wondered. "Even George and I can't manage to Apparate into a place like that."

The woman's large and lumpy purse temporarily appeared as she set it down. There was a rustling as she handed the boy something and said something to him.

"I have to rub this gunk on the bottoms of my shoes?" his voice yelped, sounding annoyed. "With my fingers?"

He listened to something she said. "Well, that's all right then," he said, sounding positively delighted. "What's this stuff made out of?"

His voice erupted a moment later. "That much? Shoot. There's no way we can reproduce this."

The purse disapppeared again, and there was a faint murmur of voices.

A footprint of solid ice suddenly appeared on the rough water, followed by that of the opposite foot, and they began to patter across in an annoyingly brisk manner.

A young voice breathed, "Wicked." Exuberantly, a second set of footprints of ice, which faded shortly after they were made, began to form in a series of sprints across the nearly ebony water.

"Yee-haw!" he shouted gleefully, as a skid of solid ice appeared, created a splash.

"Quiet!" Philips' voice reprimanded.

"Oh. Sorry," the Weasley said guiltily, but the footprints continued to form odd patterns, at one point appearing to mimic dance steps.

Lestrange, eyeing them coldly with her hidden hooded eyes, pulled the Invisibility Cloak, fluttering in the wind, tightly about her, then whispered, "_Sylyphacas_," and stepped out as if onto an unseen staircase in the air, practically gliding over to Azkaban. She had a duty. She had vengeance to take.

""""""""""""""""""""""""("""""""")""""""""""""""""""""

Bellatrix Black, full of the arrogance of her thirteen years, boarded the train to Hogwarts with a contemptous look at her older sister, who was looking about the station with a mixed air of apprehension and thrill. Looking for her foolish boyfriend, probably. At least he was a pure-blood. Narcissa, her icy blond hair flowing behind her, inspected her nails as a seventh year Slytherin loaded her trunk for her, looked with equal annoyance at Andromeda. Bellatrix stifled a laugh at the thought. Lucius Malfoy was hardly any better, just as pure-blooded, if considerably more stupid. Still, he was not only a Slytherin, but wealthy, and certainly full of righterous indignation against the Mudbloods. Narcissa was hardly the brightest bulb herself. It was an excellent match.

She looked about the train, wondering where her fellow Slytherins were. Most, she couldn't bring herself to consider as friends in her mind. They were sycophants and morons. Others were equals, and they, she supposed, were her friends.

She took a sharp intake of breath, loathing filling her, as she noticed a young boy with dark hair shuffling a deck of cards in a nearby compartment. On second glance, she realized it wasn't Sirius, merely some second year Slytherin, already in his school robes. She released her grip on her wand with some mild disappointment. Andromeda's preaching had her in a lousy mood, and she was itching for a good fight.

"Bellatrix," the second year said with a nod. She recognized him as Evan Rosier. She'd noticed him last year as well. He'd reminded her of Sirius somewhat, or rather what her cousin might have been, had he chosen not to deny his blood.

"Rosier," she said coolly. She nodded at the cards. "Not self-shuffling? What's with the Muggle product?"

His dark eyes twinkled. "Took them off a Mudblood first year. I'm debating cursing them, and giving them back."

She cast the look she reserved for fools. "And you think it's dumb enough to take them back from you?"

He gave her a cutting glance in turn. "No. I think it'll be simple enough to leave them lying about where the idiot'll find them."

She granted him a nod, and graced him with her presence, seating herself calmly. She eyed him. "What manner of curse?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I was thinking perhaps Jelly Legs to whoever touches it, or something similar."

She scoffed, leaning back in the seat, vaguely noticing her sisters and some Hufflepuff named Stebbins enter the train. "Child's play. Try the Tongue Splitting Curse. It's nastier, and remarkably painful."

She could see the uneasiness in the boy's eyes. She'd noted him last year as a potential choice for the fold of young Slytherins she called her "friends", those who did whatever she said. He merely needed to be pushed in the right direction. "The Mudblood deserves it, of course."

Some hatred flashed there, and he nodded. "Absolutely. Can you teach it to me, Black?"

"Bellatrix," she amended. "Always Bella-" She cut off as her cousin, looking completely shaggy, bolted onto the train with a maniacal laugh.

Rodolphus Lestrange followed him on, a fourth-year whose astuteness and reluctance to obey her always annoyed and miffed her. He noticed the direction of her gaze and sighed, looking both amused and irked by her innate hatred of Sirius Black.

She rose, a smile playing about her lips. "Follow me." Rosier looked up. He gestured to some friend who seemed to have come from behind her, and Rodolphus came as well, lugging his bag.

Andromeda, medium dark hair flying behind her, bit her lip, looking about.

"Do stop searching for the oaf," Narcissa ordered.

Andromeda made a face at her, then caught sight of her dark-haired younger sister making her way determinedly to another compartment. "Odd's bobs," she muttered, and grabbed a startled Narcissa. "C'mon," she said wearily, "we better stop Bella. She's up to something."

Narcissa attempted to pry her arm off. "I think not!" she said, offended, as her sister dragged her onward.

A monstrosity of a muscular cat was hissing about Bella's feet. Trying to get past it, she kicked it just as another girl, with bobbing long hair, entered the room. The cat went flying to hit the window, then leaped immediately back, tearing mad and after her ankles. Bellatrix drew her wand to curse it, but the light-haired girl, in Gryffindor robes, dove for her, knocking her back and her wand away from the cat.

"Get off me, Philips," she ordered the other girl, a relative of the hated headmaster in Sirius' year who she'd noticed when she had attempted to hit Lucius Malfoy the previous year and managed to act as the catalyst for a duel between the seventh year Slytherin, some Gryffindor named Dawlish, and some tall black Hufflepuff.

"Then stop trying to curse my cat!" the other girl demanded.

"The beast drew blood!" Bellatrix informed her, shoving the girl. "Someone get her out of my way!"

Rodolphus, rolling his eyes, moved to do so, raising his wand, only to find some impertinent red-haired Mudblood attempting to Stupefy him. He blocked the spell, annoyed, moving to counter it with a jink only to see her deflect it calmly. Furrowing his brow, he cast spells at the girl again.

Bellatrix shot flames out of her wand, singing the cat. Furious, Philips leaped at her, tearing at her hair. The flames still spurting out of her wand singed the Gryffindor girl's hair. She didn't appear to notice, drawing her wand and seemingly intent on breaking Bellatrix's nose.

Narcissa, contemptuous, attempted to end the fight, only to see some Hufflepuffs join in, one of them shooting something green all over her. Furious, she struggled with Andromeda, attempting to curse them all to oblivion.

The mad cat leaped about attacking faces and ankles.

Bellatrix, filled with a passion against this idiot girl, attempted to curse the girl directly. Even more furious, the other girl sent a spell back at her, which Bellatrix ducked. They barely even noticed the room erupting into chaos all about them, intent with a fury which seemed to have risen out of nothing. Fury on both sides originally directed at someone else had been aimed at each other, and nothing would ever take it back.

""""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""""

She listened to the droning professor babble on and on about the boiling Potions, actually daring to bring up Muggle science, something called 'chemistry', in a Hogwarts class. The Slytherins looked about, disgusted and waiting for the bell to ring. Bellatrix gathered up her books and prepared to bolt.

"Miss Black?" the blithering woman asked. "If I could see you for a moment?"

"Oooo," said that idiotic Parkinson. "Someone's in trouble."

Bellatrix swiveled on her heel, looking up at the woman with lazy contempt. She didn't have to show this Muggle-born fool any real respect.

Professor Henson watched quietly, wringing her hands as the class filed out with curious looks. Then suddenly she straightened, no longer stooping in a slight cringe, and her hands folded calmly on her lap as she sat with perfect posture. She picked up a quill pen and began writing. "Have a seat, Bellatrix."

Wondering what was going on and disliking the familiarity the woman used, she sat, eyes wary and watchful.

The woman looked up. "You demonstrate great potential, you know."

"In Potions?" Bella asked dryly, knowing perfectly well she had no skill in the subject.

"No, my dear, you mistake me," said the woman quietly, not looking up from her paper. "In a different arena entirely. May I ask, how many of the Slytherins are loyal to you?"

The girl froze, finding that she was the one now fidgeting. She forced herself to sit still and smiled sardonically. "Pardon me, but I'm afraid I don't understand the question."

The woman chuckled, a distinctly unpleasant sound which made the young girl's blood run cold. It made her want to cultivate a laugh like that. She looked up slightly, with glinting, fervent eyes. "I'm sure you don't, darling. But you must be made aware that it is quite apparent they defer to you. You'd be better off to hide it."

"Oh?" she asked warily.

"Yes. Power becomes greater when your foe is unaware of it."

"And who would my _foe_ be?"

"You tell me, girl." Henson set down her quill pen. "Now, how many?"

She waited, studying the woman's eyes, and with reluctance, answered. "The third years, all of them. Many of the second years respect me. The first years fear me." She smiled. "And a great deal of the older boys find that I'm quite pretty enough for them to notice, whatever my age. The old families marry young, not that you'd know that." There was something of a slight there, and a question lurking as well. "I'm certain a few of even the seventh years not only respect my family, but would be not displeased to find themselves engaged to me upon my graduation from this... charming establishment."

Henson gave her a calculating look. "Already you understand the weapon looks offer you. The one I serve told me to look for such as you."

Bellatrix, alarmed, sat back. "The one you..."

Confidentially, Henson leaned forward. "Have you heard of Lord Voldemort, my dear?"

In a whisper, the girl responded, "Oh, yes."

"Don't worry, this room is quite protected. What have you heard about him?"

"A great many... interesting things. He's established an underground movement against Muggle-born wizards and witches and urging our kind to take our place above Muggles."

Henson chuckled, making Bellatrix's hair stand on end, despite attempts to remain perfectly calm. "He is far more than that. He is not some politically minded fool. And his followers are more than part of some movement. He offers them power, and he seeks perhaps the greatest triumph of all."

The girl's eyes glittered at the offering of power. "Triumph?"

"Over death."

Bellatrix found herself hardly able to breathe. "And why do you tell me this?" she asked in a hush.

"Because I want your aid. Because I have plans for the Mudbloods of the school, and all those of that filthy ilk. And as I have said, you show... potential." The woman waited, picking up her quill once more.

"What would I have to do?" the girl said immediately, willing to sell her soul. Her eyes burned into the older woman.

Henson smiled. "Excellent..."

""""""""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""""""

_The Tenth Birthday of Sirius Black_

"Pawn to Queen Four."

With a creak, the pawn in question glided forward two spaces.

"You have to tell them to move like that? Which place on the board and all that nonsensy junk?"

Incredulously, she cast her eyes up at the ceiling. He scowled when he noticed. With an annoyed look, he reached for one of knights and tried to move it to the proper place. At once, he dropped it, hand going to his mouth, a wounded look in his eyes. "It stabbed me! The little thing stabbed me!" He glowered at the knight, reaching for him again. "I'll get you, you Knarl. And your little horsie, too." He stared at his hand. "Say, Bella, what's this junk made out of? The wound, 's'not gonna fester, is it? Consi-"

"Obsidian," she told him, jabbing a finger at his black pieces. Pointing at the white, she added, "Ivory. It cost a lot, so you'd better be properly grateful."

She could tell he was trying desperately not to make a face. His lips were twitching downward, his eyes were flashing, and his mouth was shut so tightly she knew he was trying not to make a comment. He failed. "What, somebody went blowing up elephants so I could play chess?"

"Basically."

"Well, y'know, that wasn't very nice," he mused. He brightened. "Unless it was a rabid elephant skewering people on its tusks." He cast a look at Regulus, toying in the corner with the crystal ball his brother had received which had very narrowly escaped a plummet through the window when the receiver had callously tossed it over his shoulder. "And stampeding over small children till they were crushed to-"

Staring at the ceiling and forming talons with her hands, Bellatrix's exasperation escaped with a "Enhhhhh!"

"You all right?" he asked, mockingly considerate.

"Sirius, Sirius, Sirius," she said, in sugar sweet tones. "The sooner you move, the sooner I take your king, the sooner we no longer have to spend time with each other."

His eyes lit up. "Oh." He looked about, casting an annoyed glance at the knight who'd attempted to skewer him.

"You there," Sirius said, pointing uncertainly at a pawn. It looked up at him. "Move to there. That one, there."

The pawn shook its fist at him, pointing at Bellatrix's bishop, freed by the hole provided by her moved pawn.

The boy tilted his head. "What, that's the one that moves sideways?"

She tapped her fingers, annoyed.

He bit his lip, then jabbed at his other knight. "Jump to that place, then."

Spurring its horse, it leaped over his own pawns and landed gently.

Happily, he looked up.

She frowned at the board. Unwittingly, he'd put himself in a position to take the one pawn she'd moved. She nudged it forward with a quick snap.

The game dragged on far longer than she'd have liked, for Sirius seemed determined not to let a single one of his pieces fall into her clutches. He covered them protectively with his hands. He shifted each piece as best he could to keep it out of her clutches, without thinking of the consequences. She easily collected his queen with a pawn when he shifted one of his knights in an attempt to save it, before he'd even properly realized the value of the most powerful piece on the board.

She informed him of that with delight as the pawn's swords sliced into the queen, knocking her back.

"Why are you laughing?" he wondered suspiciously, contentedly looking at his protected knight.

"Because you know absolutely nothing."

He looked down. "So the bird bit the dust. Big whoop. I'm supposed to spend my time guarding the only wench on the board?"

He was purposely trying to get on her nerves, she knew. It didn't help he was succeeding.

"After all, our fathers are always telling us the weak are useless," he said loftily. "Bishop. Move there." He grinned. "Now I'm gonna take your knight. And then you're in trouble."

"As always, Sirius, you judged incorrectly," she said, smiling wickedly. "Appearances matter nothing. It's who holds the power."

"Yeah. And that's me. I've got more pieces left," he said proudly, with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Poor boy," Bellatrix said, smiling. "Silly. Don't tell me you still believe strength is in numbers? At ten years old?"

"Fine, I won't tell you." He scowled at her. "That goes against all those dumb things you've said about school, though."

She opened her mouth to object and paused. She certainly hadn't been speaking to Sirius about Hogwarts. Casting an annoyed look at him, she demanded, "Have you been listening in on what I've been saying to-"

"Yep." He looked at her obnoxiously.

Inhaling sharply to calm herself down and not wanting to know what else he overheard, she shrugged. "Nothing wrong with having those to do things for you." She gestured at her pieces. "But in the end, they're not important." She looked at the board, and her lips rose slightly into a smile. "Bishop to E5."

He rolled his eyes at her terminology, then stopped. Her knight was still in trouble, but she'd just opened up her remaining bishop, which had taken most of his pawns thus far, to an easy grab for one of his knights. Gleefully, he watched as his cavalry trampled on the figure with the tall hat. "That was a daft move, Bellatrix. I expect better."

She shook her head, laughing. "You always have to take the bait, Sirius. Always."

Her voice sharpened. "Queen. Take his rook."

The white queen slid sideways across the board to take it with ease.

"My castle!" he exclaimed, eyes widening. He looked at the piece suspiciously. "I thought only the bishops moved sideways," he complained, looking outraged.

"You weren't paying attention," she scolded sweetly, eyes flashing. "Check," she told him, pointing to his king.

"Check what?" he demanded, still annoyed.

"Someone's in trouble," she taunted.

He looked carefully, realizing her queen could take his king if it slid sideways toward it. He glanced at his other rook, but the presence of the king prevented it from reaching the queen. He glanced about, but his knights were too insulated to come to the rescue of his distant king. Desperately, he eyed a diagonal spot. "King to that place," he ordered, voice harsh.

The figure glided over, one spot up and over. Relieved, he looked up.

She shook her head at him, and, with delight, beckoned her queen to move back towards her by one space to take the pawn that separated them. The white queen now stood next to the black king.

Sirius glanced about, but the pieces he had worked so hard to save now encircled his king. The knights were not in position to take her queen, and his pawns couldn't move backwards to take her. There was no way out.

"Checkmate," she said pleasantly, and his king, as if stricken, toppled over.

He looked at it gloomily. "I'm sure that wasn't fair." Pouting, he began to count how many pieces were removed from the board. "I captured nearly twice as many as you did! I should win!"

"Doesn't matter," she told him coldly, as the chess pieces returned to their places.

Uncle Alphard, a bit tipsy and not well liked by most of the family, came toddling over, glancing at them both. "Isn't this nice," he said happily, looking at them both. "Could be brother and sister, you two. Like two peas in a pod."

"We are not!" they said, horrified, stepping away from the board.

"Playing chess?" he asked, beaming.

"We're done," Bellatrix said cuttingly.

"Who won?" Alphard questioned, hoping to start an actual conversation, difficult among the rather stoic Blacks.

Tongue pressed against his cheek, Sirius mumbled, "She did," as he jerked his thumb at her.

"Ah. Well, you could play again and I could give you a hand," he suggested to Sirius, winking, "Seeing as it's your birthday, and all."

"No!" both said at once.

"My father wanted me to teach Sirius how to play with his new set, that's all, Uncle," Bellatrix said sweetly. She cast a look at her cousin. "He gets it now," she said, her lips twisting slightly.

"What did you learn?" Alphard tried again.

"Know the rules before you treat with hell?" Sirius suggested sourly, crossing his arms.

Alphard, gulping slightly, wondered where he'd picked a phrase like that up.

Looking at him as if he were a toad, Bellatrix hissed, "Darling Sirius learned the importance of sacrifice... And learned he doesn't know a blessed thing about strategy."

"I did, did I?"

"That's why you lost," she told him, in tones which seemed like kindness. "You'll have to learn better... but you never will. If you didn't spend all that time protecting your other pieces..."

"I like my other pieces better!"

She tilted her head at him. "Too bad. Baby Sirius can't even learn the first rule of chess. No victory unless you can deal with the cost-"

"That's enough," Alphard said nervously. "Why don't you kiddies shake hands and make friends?"

Disgustedly, the two glared at each other. But Andromeda, still looking ill from the upset at seeing the latest head of a house elf, one she'd known, on the wall, drifted back in, and her gaze fell on both of them. Sighing, they extended their hands.

Sirius seemed bent on breaking the hand of his older cousin, but she, without flinching or hesitating, drove her nails towards the cut on his hand from earlier. He cried out and let go, bringing the gaze of all their relations.

Gasping apologies, Bellatrix hustled to get cloth to stop the bleeding scrape, knowing she'd be praised later for her quick reaction while Sirius' father would be dismayed at his son demonstrating any weakness. Especially in front of the family members. He'd be punished later, no doubt.

Although he attempted to avoid her, she managed to catch him near his mother, handing him the cloth with a delicate smile. "Checkmate," she told him in a hushed, melodic whisper. He looked up at her, malice in his gaze, anger at his slight humiliation. "You lose again."

"""""""""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""'

_Present Day, London_

Knockturn Alley. Where curiosity not only killed the cat, but tied it to a brick and threw it in the nearest river. Home to cutthroats, bargainers, scoundrels, ruffians, and rapscallions of all kinds, including those intending darker purposes. Oliver Wood knew perfectly well he stuck out like a sore thumb swelled up to a good four times its normal size, and it rather unnerved him that Ginny managed to so calmly stalk the streets, even smiling faintly and calmly pushing aside the toothless warlock trying to sell her rotting dead rats.

Cloaked figures argued over a price in a corner, and a few drunks were passed out alongside the walls. Dark looks from tall figures in pristine robes were cast at the odd pair. An old hag beckoned to Oliver, wielding tarot cards. Another clutched at his palm, shouting, "Aren't we a pretty laddie, come with me, boy, I'll-"

Ginny brushed her away. She cast a contemptuous look at a blonde who could not be much older than Oliver, who raised his eyebrows at her manner of dress. "He's not interested," Ginny assured the girl wryly, tugging him along.

"So. What are we interested in, 'xactly?" he asked, his eyes darting over to a group of scared young wizards he seemed to recall as Slytherins trying to purchase some form of incense.

She gestured with a slight incline of her jaw, her freckled face lighting up. "The one bright spot on the street. Fletcher has a few fri- no, associates- er, well fellows who can probably get us what we need who frequent there."

Looking ahead at the one building bright light was streaming out of, Wood's usually ruddy cheeks faded to the precise shade of ivory. Noticing his slackened pace, Ginny began to tug him forward. She made an exasperated face. "Oh, it's not that bad, Fred and George come here all the time. Manages to attract all the barflies who've gotten thrown out of everywhere else, but it's not exactly got a clientele of Death Eaters. Fred says most folk have been in the-"

Wood stared at the building's faded sign. Every Quidditch player worth his salt knew exactly who frequented the tavern they were approaching "Tell me that's not The Troll's Hoarde."

She shrugged. "If it makes you happy? It's not."

"Liar," he commented, wincing as the sign came into view.

"Did I ever say otherwise? Get a move on!"

A pair of wizards, arms looped around each other's shoulders in both a spirit of comraderie and a desire not to fall down, came tumbling out the front door, happily. Their faces were oddly painted in shades of what appeared to be black and in some yellowish shade. They were in quite a state. Their voices raised above that of those in the bar, who were hollering pub songs. "O-le, ole, ole, ole! O-le, o-le, ole!" They took a breath and continued.

"Aw, shit," muttered Oliver. He ducked his head and began to steer Ginny away.

"We need to go in there!" she protested furiously. "What're you-"

"Run while we can," he told her firmly, pushing her back the way they came.

"Are you hiding from your fans, Wood?" she said, in amusement and with mock indignation, but unfortunately too loudly. One wizard let go of the other, who toppled to the ground. The one on the ground hiccupped loudly.

"Say!" the standing one said to the other, pointing. "Ain't that the Keeper? Something Wood?"

He pulled more fervently.

"You could stand to give a couple of autographs. It'd let a few more people know what team you're actually on."

"You don't understand," he hissed.

Ginny frowned, still holding him back as a few more people gathered outdoors, drifting out of the tavern and mumbling. "I thought your game was last night, anyways. What kind of fans are still partying the night after-"

"In the name of Godric, girl, move! These are fans from _tonight's_ game!" he hissed desperately.

Ginny, letting him tug her forward, stared at the assembled group of mostly middle-aged and young men who continued shouting loudly, "Ole, ole, ole, ole! O-le, ole, ole!" She frowned, noticing several seemed to be making buzzing noises as well. Slowly, she said, "Wood? What team..."

Desperately, he ducked his head to speak to her as he shoved his way through the belligerent crowd of Knockturn Alley. "They're Stingers! And Puddlemere beat the Wasps last week! Pretty much ruined their chance at the League Cup!" he practically wailed, though quietly, as he tugged her along.

Her face flushed with horror, but she managed to get out one last question. "And, oh, just a guess, did you happen to play in that game?"

"Yes!"

She sighed. "Stingers", with a reputation as the most rabid among all Quidditch fans (which is really saying something), had in previous years briefly kidnapped skilled players from other teams (including several Quiberon Quafflepunchers, starting plenty of international incidents) and were probably largely behind stacking the jury and insuring the swift dismissal of charges during the case against Ludo Bagman, multiple years back.

In short, it was a very, very bad thing for her to be in the company of a player from Puddlemere United, on Knockturn Alley, followed by quite inebriated fellows with a passionate grudge against him.

"Can we run now?" Oliver pleaded, pulling at her arm.

She looked at him. "Yes, let's."

They fled, a small group, pulling out their wands to shoot what looked like fireworks, following closely.

"Ole, ole, ole, ole! O-le, ole, ole!"

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""""""""

_The Prison of Azkaban_

He was supposed to be paying attention. Of course, he hadn't exactly fully paid attention to anything in his life, so he felt it quite all right to be playing Solitaire in the warden's warm office, under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak, naturally, instead of shivering outside by the main gates into the actual prison. Even with the dementors gone, he hated the place with a passion. A few months there had insured Sturgis Podmore had absolutely no residual curiosity regarding the prison. It had also left him with a greater respect for Black, who'd managed twelve years there. Sturgis felt he'd been enough of a blubbering wreck coming out of the dratted tower, and he hadn't even been forced to serve the full six months, thanks to Dumbledore's interference.

A hand closing down on his shoulder made him yelp, a sound which could very well have awoken the sleeping warden but luckily did not. As he whirled, scrabbling for his wand and knocking cards about, he heard a soft snicker, but saw nothing.

"Hey, Sturgis," a familiar voice cheekily greeted him, and he recognized the voice of a Weasley twin.

He took a stab at it. "George?"

The voice responded in a long-suffering manner. "Fred," he corrected.

Sturgis looked about, unable to identify the location of the invisible figure. "What do you think you're doing here? How did-"

"He's with me, Podmore," another voice interjected in dry, quiet tones.

Sturgis pulled the cloak back slightly from his face, although his straw-like hair remained unseen. "Oh? Who's me?"

"You should be quieter. And you should be outside."

"Philips," he decided miserably. "Delightful. How did you find me?"

"You're rotten at covering your tracks and you make far more noise than a man who wishes to continue his stay on earth should." Podmore was distracted from her reply by an apple from the fruit bowl on the warden's desk floating in midair and receiving a bite.

"Yeah, even I had no trouble figuring out where you were," Fred commented, taking another bite.

"Now, if you don't mind interrupting your riveting game, I'd like to start guarding this place properly."

Sturgis made a face. "You're not being at all sympathetic."

There was an unspoken question in her lack of response.

"Seeing as how I was imprisoned here, you think you'd understand my unwillingness to spend time here and send me off to my own bed to get a lovely night's sleep."

There was a soft chortle from the direction of the apple.

The woman's voice responded immediately. "Tell you what, you can take the east side." East was the location of a small Magical Law Enforcement Patrol office, where minor offenders, such as Flying While Intoxicated or possessors of forbidden Muggle artifacts were sent for brief, usually one-night lock-ups where, until recently, they could bask in the slightly felt extended effect of the dementors of the main prison. "Fred, can you handle watching the west district?"

"Uh..."

"Minor criminals with shorter sentences, few dementors-"

"No dementors anymore," Sturgis interjected helpfully. "It's got thieves, spies who didn't do much, folks who couldn't make bail-"

The warden stirred, cracked his eyes open, and saw nothing, or at least failed to register the floating apple, and returned to his doze at his easy chair. Jenny, in lower tones, amended, "It's the lesser side of the tower, but an entrance just the same. You've just got to watch to see that no Death Eaters try to get through that way."

"Sure. For how long?"

Sturgis sighed. "Guard duty never necessarily ends."

"Goody. And you, Jenny?"

Grimly, she replied, "I'll guard the main gate."

Fred gulped. The winding, many-leveled black tower of Azkaban, with its high security, was, to his mind, one of the more frightful sights he had seen in his young life, and the huge, heavily guarded gate, where the residue of the dementor's presence still clung, was directly in the center of it. "Better you than me."

"That's my reasoning as well," she told him. She would have clapped a hand on his back or given him a thumb's up, but invisibility made that too difficult. "Good luck, sport. And mind you don't fiddle with that cap."

"Cap?" Sturgis wondered, picking up his cards.

"Go," Jenny ordered him, pointing to the door before remembering he couldn't see it.

"You're not the boss of me," he told her sulkily, but complied, treading towards the door.

"Fred?" she queried, hearing the boy shuffling towards the door as well.

"Yup?"

"You sure you're up for this? I haven't had a chance to give you a speech on the perils of guard duty."

"Believe me, I'm well aware of those perils." His voice was tinged with an irony that led her to suspect she was missing some knowledge of recent events.

"You just should know, standing between Voldemort and what he wants, however subtly... It's taken more than a couple of lives."

Fred, with forced cheer, managed, "Hey, no one's ever died where I'll be guarding- Jenny? Jen... Oh, man. Who died guarding the..."

He could hear her shift her jaw anxiously. "Ah, we think... we're not quite sure... well, Benjy Fenwick."

"The one who was found in bits?" he said somewhat hysterically.

"That's not a nice way to refer to him- who told you that?"

"Moody, trying to discourage George and me from joining the Order," he informed her.

"Ah." There was a silence, which Fred found very uncomfortable, as there was nothing to look at but the wall behind where he knew Jenny Philips was standing. "I didn't intend for you to be doing anything like this so soon. I've just got a very bad feeling, that's all. But you deserve to know what you're getting yourself into. If you want to go home..."

"No," he said firmly. "I'll be fine. I promise."

She had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she didn't like the idea of leaving him alone. But there needed to be proper guards on the captured Death Eaters, since a slim enough margin of time had passed so that it was now perfectly within the realm of possibility for Voldemort to try for an escape.

"Go on," Fred urged.

"Good luck, sport," she said warmly.

"You, too."

""""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""

_Five minutes later_

Jenny stared at the tower, guarded by nervous members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol filling in for the dementors. Ebony stone led to the jagged tower, stretching high with the slimmest of barred windows, too tiny for even a mouse to squeak through. Larger bars, she knew, kept the unfortunate prisoners from their guards, and she hoped they were taking further precautions. Venom flared up in her, directed at the tower, which truly was Azkaban itself.

She began to patrol the ground, insuring she left no trail. The last time she'd been here...

""""""""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""""""""""""

Moody looked at the girl, whose smoky hair flew behind her in the always cold wind of Azkaban. The approach of winter didn't help the weather at all.

"Still here?" he asked gruffly.

She looked furious, practically biting the sides of her cheeks as she tightly compressed her lips. She turned at his approach, her blue eyes as frigid as the island itself. "I didn't want to drop her off," she spat. "I wanted to throw her behind the bars and melt the key before her eyes. I wanted my face to be the last thing she'd see of the outside world, so she'd remember what we think of her- and remind her of the _second-rate nobody_ who defeated her. I want her to pay- and it's not enough."

"No," he told her gently. "It's not."

She kicked at the sharp obsidian rock which littered the ground about the tower. "I want her to die, Alastor. She should die. And I wanted to kill her, too- but that wasn't enough either... and I couldn't do it, I couldn't- but I wanted to so, so much. As much as I've ever wanted anything."

He looked at her solemnly. "There's nothin' in this world that'd ever be enough to pay for all the things that woman's gone and stolen by doing what she did. But Azkaban's a start. And she'll stay there. Believe me, she'll stay."

Her eyes flickered up. "Of course she'll... what're you saying, Alastor?"

He snarled slightly, not at her, but apparently at some distant figure. "Y'sure you got all the right culprits?"

"You questioning me?" Jenny demanded.

"I'm not. Some will." He waited a beat. "The young kid's Crouch's son."

Her face hardened. "He's still behind it. I knew he looked familiar. He was friends with Regul-" She turned away, unable to get the name out. "So what's it mean, Alastor? Why are you here telling me this?"

"It means Crouch'll give 'em all a trial," he growled.

Her shoulders stiffened. "That what this is?" she asked. "We get to listen to why th- these slaughterers went and t-tortured two of the finest people I'll ever know - and they get their due process of law but- but not..." She broke off. "They won't get off," she said firmly.

"No, they won't." Moody paused. "He wouldn't have, either."

"No, he wouldn't have. But I want to know why, Alastor. And to so much more than that. It's supposed to be justice... but it's not. I- that's all I- justice isn't supposed to be like this. It's supposed to make you feel better, when the black hats are locked up for what they've done. Justice is served. Right?" She looked at the cold water, eyes watering slightly. "But it doesn't. Nothing that happens to them will bring Lily and James back or make Alice and Frank all right again and have everything like it was. Bellatrix and those like her, they're not dead, and the worst part is, there's nothing to stop it all from happening again. Human nature, right? People like you and Gideon and Frank fight and try to make things better, but someone'll eventually stand up and start doing the same things Voldemort or Grindewald or Slytherin did, and people will join with them. And there's no answer to why they'd do that. And justice just leaves you feeling cold. Empty. Like you've done nothing and now you've got nothing to keep seeking."

He studied her with both eyes, his good one and his false one. "You're talking about vengeance, Guineviere, not justice. Justice is keeping the evil from being committed again, by locking 'em up or beating 'em back with big sticks, and they'll keep coming and coming. Justice is constant vigilance, no sleep 'cause you're up watching the sheep for fear of the wolves at the door creeping in. And it won't leave you with warm fuzzy feelings, and a lot of days it seems like you're doing nothing, but for everything ruined by evil, there's a lot more left at the end of the day than there would have been if you hadn't been out there, whether you see it or not. Justice ain't easy. Vengeance is. It's something different. And it's revenge you're seeking, no doubt."

She turned to him. "Maybe," she allowed, but didn't look surprised by that.

"You're talking about paying, and balancing the scales. For every hurt done, you want the blow to be felt by the one who done it." He looked at her, sharp as a hawk. "There's a lot of harsh things I could say to you about revenge, but I'm not a hypocrite, Guineviere. Vengeance is attractive, but it wears you down, and it takes many times more than it gives back. And sometimes it's satisfying. But the fight's over for now, and while you better not let down your guard, I druther not see you on the round I've taken."

She shook her head. "It's not over," Jenny replied softly. "Not for me." Her tone darkened. "Not when someone like Marlene McKinnon's dead and scum like Lucius Malfoy who put her there walk about without a care for all the folk a Healer like her could have saved. Macnair's being employed by the Ministry, y'know? Another monster taken in, just like those who guard their masters in there." She gestured at the prison. "I'll not stand about idly and pay court to Voldemort's lackeys, whatever lies they've told and palms they've greased so that we'll play nice! I'll not stand about and watch the heirs of these butchers go to school with the kids of those they've murdered!"

"So you'd punish children for the sins of their fathers?" he queried.

"That's not what I meant! You think I can pass people on the street, day after day, who didn't help us when we needed them, who stood idly by?! You think I can live with people who didn't give a damn till it was their own throats on the line? That I can-can move on?"

He shook his head. "No. Though I wish that you could."

She laughed hoarsely, staring at the water. "There's nothing for me here now. Those who aren't dead are carrying on, some of them living shams of a life. Pretending everything's fine, though it isn't. I don't know what I thought would happen when it was done. Maybe I never really believed I'd see it done. I'm not ready to rest. I-I want things to be fixed. The way they should have been."

"No power can make the world the way we wish it was," Moody told her, awkwardly setting a gnarled hand on her shoulder.

"I can't stay here. I can't be in... in the ruins of what might have been." She looked up at the sky. "Uncle Albus keeps telling me to move on, so I rather think I will."

He took a raspy breath. "If you're plannin' what I reckon you're plannin', it'll cost you. For the rest of your life, it'll cost you." He held up a hand, stopping her next words. "No, I'm not sayin' you'll regret it. I don't, not for all I've lost, of what can be seen and what can't be. It'll hurt, though. More than most other ways. And vengeance against the world'll leave you alone. It's a lonely way. And there's worse than Death Eaters in the shadows of the world. I know."

"Then I'll go to the shadows of the world."

"Then, Guineviere, you'll die. Sooner or later, when you're all alone, one of those shadows'll get you."

She laughed again, a rather hard sound. "Better start writing my obituary, then."

He looked at her quite seriously. "I will." The look in his eye almost made her lose her nerve, to turn and say she would stay, could he get her a job as an Auror, a Hit Wizard, anything, to not leave everything she'd ever known. Almost.

"This is good-bye, then, Alastor." She looked at the tower. "I'll never be back here again. Especially not to this place." She steeled herself and looked at it, hard. "Justice or not, they'll all rot there. There isn't one of them who doesn't deserve it."

"""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""

She'd never expected, deep down, to live this long. Probably wouldn't have, if it weren't for Fitz, and Isabeau, and all her comrades, allies, or reluctant associates of S.A.L.A.M.A.N.D.E.R. She stalked across the grounds, thinking of those in the tower, somewhat guiltily delighted that some of those who had worn the masks of pleasant society, all those years, were now locked up.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but after what seemed like a long while she heard a cruel shout from a voice which had haunted her nightmares, the unmistakable words of death. Horrified at the direction the voice came from, she rushed towards the west, knowing her legs could not carry her near fast enough.

"""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""'

_Meanwhile, during the duration of a different guard's sentry duty_

Sturgis, bored where he sat in the front of the patrol station, was balancing his wand on one finger when the Patrolmen stepped out of the suddenly green fire of the fireplace entryway with a struggling, annoyed young woman. They headed towards the desk in the front, others glancing to see what was going on.

"-r the sixteenth time, I didn't know it'd land me in the middle of a Muggle movie theater! I was in mortal peril! How-"

"Mortal peril. How dramatic," one Patrolman scoffed.

"You'll have to answer to the Ministry, miss. Probably some hefty fines going your way. But a night in lockup's standard procedure for magical joyrides like you just use-"

"Joyride? I was being chased by three Death Eaters, you idiots!" the girl shouted. Sturgis observed she was young, very pretty, with dark skin and hair that was unraveling slowly from tight braids. She seemed somehow familiar, though he knew he'd never laid eyes on her in his life.

"But how do you know they were Death Eaters? Where's the proof?"

"They were trying to kill me!"

"And what interest would they have in you, Miss..." the Patrolman at the desk paused as her hand was pressed against a large book of records, which began to flip instantly to a new page. "Angelina Johnson?"

Sturgis Podmore stopped twiddling his wand and stared at the girl. He knew that name, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd known a boy named Johnson at school, but that wouldn't be a relation. He racked his brain, trying to come up with it.

She opened her mouth, but as she spoke, slowly, she seemed to realize the apparent unlikeliness of her story. "I was on the same Quidditch team as Harry Potter, and I'm Muggle-born, so I guess- I suppose that, er, You-Know-Who sent some Death Eaters to kill me and Alicia. Alicia Spinnet, that is, she was on the team too and she's on the same team as me now."

"The Harpies," one man said, pointing out the obvious from her robes.

She nodded.

The Patrolman at the desk looked at her seriously. "You-Know-Who has killed a lot of people, Miss Johnson. It is by no means amusing for you to come up with such an excuse in order to get away with breaking a law."

"I am not ma-" Angelina protested, but cut off as half the card she'd used was handed over to the man at the desk. She took a deep breath.

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," a Patrolwoman spat. "Might have known. Those products-"

One young Patrolman with sandy hair and a cheeky look started to laugh. "Oh, that's fantastic! Those bleedin' Porters will have to come down a few pegs once they realize every young scoundrel's found a way around their silly rul-"

"In times of peace, that might be amusing," the Patrolman at the desk, who appeared to be some form of officer, said sternly. "Considering, how-"

"Look," Angelina interrupted, leaning forward and clapping her hands down on the desk, "I was desperate and I had no way out of an impossible situation, so I used that card. And it took me away from the Death Eaters, so whatever happens here is better than the alternative. Put me in lock-up, I don't care, but I need to know if my friend's all right and the Ministry should be alerted to the attack. Other people in Holyhead may be injured and need the aid of a Healer. Just do _something_, will you?"

"Her, I like," Sturgis muttered quietly to himself, remembering that one of the Weasley twins had mentioned the girl the previous summer, numerous times.

The officer at the desk looked Angelina in the eye, studying her. He looked about to say something, but it would remain unknown, for it seemed as if thunder had suddenly rumbled within the station from the mighty crack which filled the air.

A girl with fair, nearly white hair, who was as thin as a wraith, studied the room intently with burning eyes that lacked something essential in them. A nervous, silver-haired man clutched her waist tightly, looking amazed. He muttered something in Russian, his tone suggesting to Sturgis something akin to, "of all places, here".

Podmore scrambled to his feet, wand out. He recognized the man, if not the girl. Karkaroff, former Death Eater and cowardly fool, but a threat nonetheless.

"No one can-"

"It isn't possible-"

"No one can Apparate to any part of Azkaban!"

The Patrol members looked alarmed. One, looking worried, immediately handed Angelina back her wand.

The girl tilted her head to the left, and Sturgis recognized that which was missing in the girl's eyes. Sanity. He swallowed slightly when he realized, Invisibility Cloak or no, she was looking straight at him. He edged towards Angelina, certain they had to get out of this patrol station, spit spot.

After swearing in Russian, Karkaroff realized something and began to nod to himself. "Remain calm," he said in English, holding out his hands. "Stay where you are. Put your wands back in your belts, if you would." Most had their wands drawn on him or the girl. "I must insist, my friends, that you lower the wands at once."

Angelina, smartly, backed towards a wall.

A rash Patrolman fired at Karkaroff, shouting, "_Stupefy_!". Although the Russian man did not move, the girl, with a slow loll of her head, switched her gaze from the invisible member of the Order to the other man. The red bolt stopped in midair, and seemed to sink to the floor, fading to nothingness. The man who had fired it began to tremble uncontrollably, as if fear had been forced into him with her gaze. He looked at his shaking hands with shock.

The girl turned her gaze directly back to Sturgis, now edging closer to Angelina, but Karkaroff took no notice of her seeming staring into nothingness.

Very few members of the patrol lowered their wands even a smidgen. Sturgis, knowing that as one man he could do nothing except get news back to those who could, moved as close to Angelina as he could get and tapped her shoulder.

She jerked, trying not to show it, though her eyes darted about. Sturgis, in a hurry, quickly muttered, "'Scuse me, miss, I'm a bit invisible here, but we've got to get away, right now. It's about to get a bit warmer than I like in here, and I suggest we run."

She nodded, very slightly.

In a quick swoop, he had the Invisibility Cloak over her as well, and had her rushing for the door, the sound of their footsteps muffled by his swift spell.

Karkaroff sighed as the Patrol members fired on him, using Tatiana like a shield. She was scarcely paying attention, her eyes following the pair, but her power, never mastered, ripped out of her in self-preservation in a shield, which blocked all the bolts from both of them. The Russian man smiled, power for once on his side.

Sturgis was relieved Angelina could not only keep up, but had to strain not to outpace him, as he sprinted away from the station. His mind raced. He had absolutely no clue what to do, he was better at taking orders, but he decided it was easier to grab Fred Weasley first, since Philips would murder him if he went to her while leaving the kid in potential danger, should the mad girl get to him first. This, he knew, was probably not the overall best course of action, since Karkaroff would likely make directly to free the prisoners, assuming he was, in fact, trying to get into Voldemort's good graces. It left Philips potentially unprepared. But Karkaroff could also attempt to go to the larger temporary holding center in the west, the smaller part of the tower. And Philips had a mirror, which he doubted the kid had. Fred Weasley unprepared had to be worse than Jenny Philips unprepared, and so he raced for Fred's location.

"Thank you," Angelina managed between breaths, apparently having no qualms of trusting a perfect stranger under an Invisibility Cloak in a patrol station, or at least not letting them show.

Podmore waved to show it was nothing, but couldn't manage any words. He didn't dare take the Invisibility Cloak off. However, with someone else to hold the Invisibility Cloak in place as he ran, he scrambled for the mirror in his pocket. "Jenny Philips," he huffed, not caring that the girl was watching.

There was a very loud, very unpleasant sound quite reminiscent of the sound the spell Incendio made, only magnified many times, coming from behind them. Both winced, but didn't turn. There was no sudden heat behind them, so it seemed at least the patrol station had not caught fire, but it made both wonder what was happening.

He waited, but heard no response, not knowing it wasn't working since the mirror was still in Fred Weasley's pocket, and even had he called the proper name, Fred was otherwise occupied. Running hard and trying to get a good look at the mirror as he did so, nearly falling over himself, he puffed, "Hestia Jones."

A pretty face framed by dark curls appeared, stars above her. She glanced at the face in her mirror and began speaking immediately. "Can't talk, Podmore, I'm running late for my shift at Privet Drive, Lupin had to leave and we ran into problems with the dr- what's wrong?" she demanded, looking at his face.

"Hurry," he said, taking deep breaths. "Kar-kroff- girl- bad-"

Angelina, a lot better used to long runs, stared at the mirror, gulped, leaned over and said, "No idea who you are, but Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang, just showed up- that is, Apparated, in the patrol station in Azkaban with a highly creepy girl, so I think this guy's trying to tell you to muster some help, pronto."

Sturgis nodded fervently.

"Apparated?" Hestia gasped. "But their wards are better than Hogw- don't worry, I'll get help," she said firmly, cutting herself off in a business-like tone.

"Philips- Weasley- here," Podmore added.

Hestia nodded sharply, and said, "Mission managed," shutting the mirror off.

Angelina nearly stopped in her tracks, but momentum kept her moving. "Weasley? What Weasley?"

Sturgis nodded knowingly. "Fred. I-think," he gasped, since the twins had lied to him about their identities enough times the previous summer.

"Here?" Angelina demanded.

Stugis nodded again, looking as if his head was about to bob right off.

She looked about ready to haul him off for interrogation, but kept moving. "Why?" she insisted, and at his pained look, threatened, "I'll stop running if you don't tell-"

"Guarding," he huffed. "Like me."

"Guarding?" she queried, alarmed. Oh Fred, she thought, what on earth have you gotten yourself into now?

"""""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""""""'

_A bit earlier_

He was asking himself the same question not long before. Although he was loath to admit it, he was more than a little scared. He wasn't exactly humble, and he readily would profess himself as brave, and knew his brother would back him up on that. But though he'd never tell Ron this, he sometimes envied his younger brother. Ron, from his first year on, had proved himself as truly brave time and time again. With that absolutely bonkers chess match, going to get Ginny back with Harry, getting his leg broken doing no-one-will-tell-me-what in third year, and facing the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, Ron had done all the sort of things Fred had always imagined himself doing at that age. He and George had explored dark passageways, run from Filch, done all sorts of at least mildly crazy things, but until the Burrow had been attacked, he'd never even seen a Death Eater, except at the Quidditch World Cup, much less fought one. And then it had been a matter of survival, not throwing oneself into the mouth of the lion. Plus, to be perfectly honest, he felt he hadn't done all that hot against their attackers. He'd managed to get himself all sliced up, while George had taken charge, and Ron and Ginny had done just fine. He hated to admit envying his brother, but it was genuinely bothering him that George had gone on a true Order mission while he hadn't. He'd hoped to be able to do something at Scotland Yard besides use Jenny's magic mirror to inform everyone what deep trouble they were in, and here he was on guard duty. Less than thrilling. And yet someone had apparently died doing it. That was firmly in the not good category. His father had been attacked on guard duty. Boring as it may be, what he knew of it suggested guard duty for the Order of the Phoenix was fundamentally dangerous.

He leaned against the wall, and jumped away at once, the stones of the tower feeling like ice at his back. He shuddered. Poor Sirius, he thought to himself. All those years locked up in here, knowing he was innocent but that it didn't matter, unable to do anything. The thought of the extreme boredom alarmed Fred as much as the dementors. He felt hideously bad that he hadn't spent any real time with Sirius, considering he always liked the comments of Padfoot best back when he and George still possessed the Marauder's Map. In fact, he'd been downright rude to him after his father was attacked by the snake, when he'd been furious at the Order, feeling it was responsible for putting Arthur in harm's way.

And Sirius had told them that was why they couldn't be in the Order of the Phoenix. That they didn't understand.

There are things worth dying for, he'd said.

Fred couldn't help but wonder whether Sirius Black, wherever he was, felt he'd died for something that was worth it. He questioned whether he, himself, was ready to accept that. He'd throw himself in front of his parents or his siblings in a heartbeat, take any blast meant for them, or even Harry, knowing how important the kid was. But that wasn't what the Order was about. It might mean giving your life to save some Muggle kid who'd never know your name or remember what you did once the Obliviators were through. It meant protecting others day in and day out only to have Voldemort come after you and your own for what you do. And he didn't really know if he was brave enough to manage that.

Fred doubted he or his brother would be in the Order right now if Sirius was alive. Jenny, he knew, had picked them because they reminded her of her friends, the ones she couldn't save. She must believe they were as stalwart as Sirius, Remus, Harry's dad and the others, ready for anything. Even sacrifice. If she'd spoken to Sirius, he figured the man would've told her otherwise.

Fred didn't think he understood. But he was beginning to, anyways.

"There are some things worth dying for," he repeated softly to himself, secure in his invisibility.

It was a shock, when, a second later, someone very close to his shoulder laughed in a way that gave him goosebumps and said sharply, "_Mobiliarbus_."

Fred dove to the ground as the Invisibility Cap moved off of his head. His wand was up and ready as he turned. His heart pounded in his chest. Bellatrix Lestrange stood far too close for his liking, wand extended.

"_Crucio_," she said, in disturbingly pleasant tones.

"_Protego_," he responded at once, even as he moved out of the way. His free hand was searching his pockets. Two things, neither useful. Not to him, anyways. "Good evening," he said, straining for a normal tone. He looked about for the guards and sentries who'd been there last time he looked, and saw no sign of anyone nearby. He gulped, realizing Lestrange had been occupying herself while he'd stalked the route. He hadn't thought to watch behind him, except for the occasional glance at the gate to insure it was still locked.

"Mr. Weasley," she responded just as politely, baring yellowed teeth in a smile. Fred had seen Kreacher's picture. She'd once been pretty, with skin the shade of milk and a curtain of straight but slightly poofy dark hair almost exactly the just shy of black color Sirius bore. Her face, with its classically angular cheekbones made mellow by the girlish roundness of her cheeks, had been undoubtedly lovely. Her hooded eyes were dark and forbidding and had rather creeped Fred out even as he knew others would see only mystery and promise there. Her face seemed now a monument to that beauty in ruins. The slight curve of her features was gone, her cheeks sunken and chin angular, and her hands looked almost skeletal as they pointed a wand at his chest. Her eyes glittered dangerously as she continued speaking. "Left all alone to watch the west, poor little boy. No one near to know what becomes of you. _Imperio_!"

"_Stupefy_!" Fred yelled on impulse, and the red bolt clashed briefly in midair with hers, in time for him to step nimbly out of the way. He couldn't beat her, he knew he couldn't, but he could put her into a position so that when Jenny arrived, she could get Bellatrix. "That wasn't very nice, you know," he scolded, backing away from the tower towards the water. "I'm very independent, I don't appreciate people trying to tell me what to do. It's quite useless, according to Mum, so I'd rather you didn't try using that one aga- _Expelliarmus_!" he shouted, hoping to surprise her, but she was prepared.

"_Impedimenta_!" she replied, and not only did the flash of light fail to reach her, Fred had to drop flat to the ground to allow her spell to pass over him. He rolled rapidly to the left, ignoring the cutting rocks as her booted foot nearly came down on him.

Pulling his legs up in the air and pushing forward with his weight, he sprang in one smooth motion to his feet, slightly impressed with himself. Knowing sound wouldn't reach Jenny and the hesitation caused to amplify his voice with a spell would allow Lestrange to get him, he attempted to send a flare of light up from his wand as he rose, only to have Bellatrix cut it short with a "_Nullus_!" before it even really got over his head.

"_Rictusempra!_" he tried, and she met it with a "_Diffindo_!" which sent the short whipping of wind from him to her caused by the spell to divert around her, not even making her chuckle.

"You're amusing," she observed, smiling cruelly as she stalked about him. "Reminds me of someone I once knew. I killed him too quickly. With you, perhaps we can have a bit more fun… perhaps. Tell me, boy, which twin are you?"

"I doubt it'll matter to you," said Fred darkly, countering a purple bolt from a spell he didn't recognize with the Shield Spell, sweating as he was forced back and relieved when it was finally diverted.

"It's far more fun to know who I kill, though," she purred, adding, "_Incendio_!", making Fred dance to avoid the fire at his feet.

"I could be Fred," he told her. "But perhaps I'm George. Or maybe I'm Charlie. Do you even know our names?"

"One or the other, you and your brother are the same Muggle loving pests, no different than two flies stricken by the same hand," she said calmly, adding, "_Suffoco_!", driving Fred to one knee as she stepped closer, tilting her wand up. His hands did not go to his throat as most victims did upon finding they couldn't breathe. He only attempted to rise as she came closer, and forced out the first spell which came into his flickering mind, "_Comeditus_!"

She was suddenly hit in the face with a fairly large turkey, the food he concentrated on as he used it. The turkey faded nearly at once, the spell being relatively useless since the food could have no real substance unless a remarkably powerful wizard used it, but it broke her concentration as she nearly toppled over, and Fred, given the opportunity, sprinted as distant from her as he could get. He would have preferred to continue running, but knew he couldn't escape her shots, and whirled as soon as he heard her scramble to regain her balance, having only gotten a few yards away.

Bellatrix shook her head at him, her mane of tangles whirling about. "As odious as my cousin. Little insect, there's no point in running. You'll only die the faster, with the marks on your back proving your cowardice." She cast the Slicing Spell at him, doing it so subtly he scarcely saw it coming. He jerked away, but it caught his left arm, sending a nasty cut into not only the sweater, but tearing a red line into his skin.

"Muggle dress. I'm hardly surprised, and less than impressed," Bellatrix murmured, watching Fred strain not to touch the bleeding, painful cut on his arm. "_Imperio_!"

She got the spell off, and it hit its mark, and a voice filled Fred's head.

_Obey, and follow me_. It was a seductive voice, very compelling, and it urged him to agree, to nod, take the outstretched hand.

He felt his left leg lift to step towards her.

_Obey, and follow me_.

He gritted his teeth and thought of Bill lying on the hospital bed, thought of how it would feel to have been the one to put him there, thought of Jenny or Remus having to stop him should Bellatrix gain control of his mind, thought of having to fight George. "No!" he bellowed, and followed immediately with "_Petrificus Leges_!"

The woman's lips sealed shut, and her eyes flashed furiously.

He nearly hit himself, wishing he'd used a better spell. "_Petrificus Totallus_!" he tried, but she was prepared, and sidestepped. The spell hit the tower and vanished. He began to hustle away backwards as the woman strained to break the spell, rocks trembling as she made a furious sound intended, clearly, to kill him.

She made a gurgling noise, and his wand flew out of his hand. Horrified, he extended his hand and shouted, "_Accio_!" and the wand stopped halfway in the air, tugged between them. "_Accio_!" he bellowed again, even as he watched her lips part, and the wand hurtled towards him, slapping into his outstretched hand. He dove to avoid the curses that hurtled towards him.

"_Maleficia_!" she shouted, and not knowing what it was, but suspecting something foul, Fred darted out of the way, the sickly yellow light crashing into a rock, which immediately turned to rubble. He swallowed.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Bellatrix Lestrange yelled for the first time, and Fred, frightened, leaped out of the way, the green bolt passing by even as he crashed hard into the rocks, banging his chin. The green bolt richoted off a rock and headed straight into the air, accompanied by the faint echo of her cry, and gained the attention of the woman the former prisoner sought revenge against, as well as several others headed for this destination. "Child," she sneered as he scrambled to his feet and away. "You know nothing. You think to fight me? To survive this? You, the spawn of Muggle-loving fools face one who has immersed herself in the Dark Arts? _Crucio_," she said swiftly, and his wand could not quite rise in his hand.

Fred strained not to scream as a wave of pain washed over him. He bit into his lip and tried to ignore the darkness settling into his vision, pushing past it. In some distant corner of his mind he felt his grip tighten on his wand as he pulled himself to his feet. He took a hard breath as he nearly tumbled over. Bellatrix had complete mastery over that spell, her skill with pain was undeniable. She perhaps even exceeded Voldemort in that one arena.

Fred felt his stomach clench, but even as the pain continued, he faintly heard her call the Cruciatus Curse again, and he muttered, "_Finite Incantatem_," hearing in her annoyed shout the knowledge he'd escaped another dose. He managed to get his eyes open, seeing, he could swear, a distant figure appear out of thin air and begin to hurtle towards him. He knew he was out of it, then, for he saw Angelina. His face was battered from his falls onto the rocks, as was his body, and he had to fight to keep his hands trembling from the Cruciatus Curse. He smiled slightly as she seemed to draw closer. Bellatrix's face twisted in fury as she saw it, believing he mocked her in this way even as another once did. She raised her wand, and though he raised his in turn, he felt dizzy, and he knew she had him.

A spell hit Bellatrix from behind, and she seemed momentarily to sway, frozen in a burst of red light, but she threw it off in a way Fred had never dreamed possible, with a shrug of her shoulders, and then he knew why the Dark Arts attracted so many followers. For those such as Bellatrix, who traded everything for power, it offered such rewards. A familiar voice shouted his name, and Fred realized, however impossible it might seem, that was indeed Angelina rushing towards him, and Sturgis Podmore's floating head behind her. And it was to Angelina, his Angelina, that Bellatrix turned, wand raised, the air screaming her words. He grabbed the contents of his pockets and moved as he had not moved before.

""""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""''

_Currently, around the bend of the tower, several hundred yards away_

Her long legs stretched as she sprinted, clutching her wand. She knew she was nearly there, and she could only hope she wasn't too late. Being late had cost her one too many times. There had been no way to reach the Prewetts in time after they'd contacted James to warn of their trap and a spy, too late finding Alice and Frank the morning after they'd been attacked, too late to reach Sirius first because she had to see for herself Lily and James, who she'd proved unable to do anything to save, too late to save Izzy from herself, unable to do anything for anyone. She was always there to mop up, but not in time to save those she loved. She'd heard only the faint sounds of the voice, but she'd known it was Bellatrix. She hadn't seen her yet since she'd been back, and had forgotten to watch her back for her. Jenny never forgot to watch her own back, but she'd been off her game. She'd screwed up, since her inner worries were occupying her when she should have been paying attention to the rest. And now she realized something else had to be going on as well, somewhere. Order members were down with the Draught of Living Death, others were busy handling that, they were stretched thin, and it seemed Bellatrix was here to take care of her and to exact her own personal vengeance. She understood that woman too well, and it worked both ways. Lestrange knew the best way to hurt Philips was through others.

She wished she could Apparate on Azkaban, she'd be over there in an instant, but it wasn't possible, even for her. All she could do was run, still invisible, able only to think about Fred and not whoever else was surely being attacked even as she was here. She'd figured Azkaban, which was why she had come, but instead, she'd only brought a Death Eater down upon them in possibly the worst place she could face one. Now Fred had faced what all those guarded for the Order had to do when an attempt was made on that they guarded. Fight to protect it until help came. Except Jenny, the closest help, had given him her mirror, the means of alert, even when done silently, and Bellatrix, while she'd eagerly free her companions, was not there for that. She was after Fred's life.

A loud, horrible crumbling noise halted Jenny, and she saw guards of the tower racing to a spot slightly behind her. She skidded to a stop as she turned, in horror, to see a large block of the tower, tiny barred window with it, plummet towards the ground, increasing its speed even as it did so. It finally impacted.

She whirled, looking to see the source. Out of nowhere, a bit behind her, stood a girl with tangled blond hair, who clapped her hands gleefully as the enormous piece of the wall rolled to a halt directly at her feet. A man with her, about Jenny's own age but with completely silver hair, looked as if he were going to be sick. Whistles were being blown over from the direction of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol station, and she hoped these two had been the cause, since she couldn't take any more surprises.

"Tatiana!" she shouted, pulling off her cap. "Stop this at once!" She didn't have time for this, but she couldn't leave things as they were. A childlike woman who could Apparate into Azkaban could not be delivered into Voldemort's hands along with several of his most loyal followers.

The girl was not paying attention. She was too busy seemingly levitating her uncle down from the open hole even as Karkaroff whispered into her ear. Antonin Dolohov, a muscular, though older Russian man, deadly with a wand in his hand- which at the moment he did not have- looked thoroughly pleased as he walked from the tower towards the ground as if on stairs.

"No," Jenny whispered, drawing her wand to her chest even as tower guards sent Stunning Spells ineffectually at the three. "_Expelliarmus_!" she cried, aiming at the doll Tatiana clutched to her chest. It zipped to Jenny's clutches, and she resumed the sprint towards Fred.

Tatiana let out an inhuman wail, allowing her uncle to plummet the rest of the way down. Looking infuriated, Dolohov climbed to his feet. He marched over to Karkaroff. Giving him a contemptous look, he moved as if to strike the man but instead took his wand. Tatiana, like a child, was straining after the doll, lightly held back by a nervous Karkaroff, who lowered his head, trembling and unable to look at Dolohov.

Before Dolohov could speak, they found themselves in front of the running Jenny Philips, Tatiana straining for her doll and screeching in Russian. Dolohov frowned, not recognizing the woman, but mildly impressed at the skills of his niece. Not even his master had Apparated into Azkaban, though it was certainly not outside the bounds of his master's power.

Jenny ducked, rolling out of the way and continued running. The girl screeched, extending her hand, and Philips found her feet dragging on the ground as she was tugged towards the mad Russian girl. Not allowing herself to worry about what Tatiana's presence meant for Fitz's well-being, she tipped her wand over her shoulder and shouted, "_Rictusempra_!"

Tatiana dissolved into giggles, wildly laughing as her power went wild, tossing rocks up at the guards chasing them and even smacking Dolohov and Karkaroff with the rocks and stirred winds she sent about. This is what became of young wizards and witches who never received their wands, no outlet or control for their power, coupled with Tatiana's own unhinged mind and lack of control.

Dolohov, disgusted, raised his wand, but Philips was already zigzagging off to where she could now see the flashing lights of a wizard's duel. He narrowed his eyes, but he couldn't hit her. He kicked Karkaroff, who had slumped onto the ground, ducking the rocks and Stunners sent by guards. Indicating Tatiana, Dolohov, armed with Karkaroff's wand, shouted at the twitching, younger man, while Karkaroff pulled out the pendant of crystal he'd been using to keep Tatiana calm. She strained against him, though, screeching, and would not obey his commands to let loose the others. Her only interest had been in her uncle.

Snarling and baring his teeth, Dolohov pulled back Karkaroff's sleeve, where the Dark Mark remained, the red, charred, and bruised skin around it revealing his pathetic attempts to be rid of it. Coldly, he pressed his own Dark Mark against it, which sent Karkaroff's eyes widening. The mark on both their arms burned black. Dolohov bore it stoically, while Karkaroff screamed in pain, quieting even Tatiana. "Отпуск. Теперь. Идите в места погребения Рискованного семейства!" the stronger man ordered brutally in his native tongue.

"No," Karkaroff protested, babbling in Russian, pleas for help and aid. "Not the Gard! Милосердие! Не к нему! НЕТ!"

Dolohov cast a disgusted look at the man, while Tatiana tilted her head in interest.

A mere moment later, Dolohov stormed after Philips, knocking guards aside with the lesser wand, while the others had vanished completely from the island. He'd take care of the woman, retrieve the doll as leverage with his niece, and free his comrades in service of Voldemort.

Jenny had other plans. Clutching the doll and expecting them all to follow her but not caring, she raced as quickly as she could towards the dark shore where a battle was raging.

Podmore stepped forward, appearing only as a floating head with his hair, the color and texture of straw, sticking straight up, and nervously attempted to deflect some of the curses streaming from Bellatrix's wand. Angelina, from several yards away, shouted, "_Impedimenta_!" but Bellatrix deflected it with ease, having long ago learned to fight more than one opponent.

Fred Weasley, bleeding, elbowed the woman as hard as he could as he leaped on top of her, trying to wrestle the wand from her tight grasp. She socked him in the nose, but still he held on. She managed to knock him back with a cry of "_Flipendo_," though it only staggered him.

She frowned. The boy, breathing hard, was holding two wands, though she still had hers. She didn't care. He'd become a nuisance, she'd take care of him, then the others. A shield deflected the spells of the approaching duo, buying her the needed time.

"_Mobilis_!" Fred shouted, trembling at what he was about to do, at the gamble he was about to take. But if it worked, it would allow Angelina to take Bellatrix out. He wasn't as good as Ron in chess, but he could manage. This play required a sacrifice. He managed a smile. Lose a knight, but in turn take out the opponent's queen. Fair trade. Hey, not even Sirius Black had taken out Bellatrix Lestrange. She wouldn't free the others, she wouldn't hurt Angelina. Worth dying for? Yeah.

Bellatrix frowned. She couldn't see what the boy's spell had done. She raised her wand, even as the tall girl shouted and tried to break her shields and the man who looked like his head had been thatched tried to get around them. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Fred mumbled, pointing one wand at the other, speaking nervously and fumblingly but swiftly, "_Swijchio_!" He'd always been good at the Switching Spell. McGonagall herself had once commended him for it, while again begging him to apply himself to his studies.

Bellatrix didn't notice that her wand had been suddenly replaced. She was too busy watching her victim.

Fred looked up. He would have liked to move, but there was no time. The world seemed to be in slow motion, though the bolt was only inches from his chest. His wand was pointed in the wrong direction, he couldn't get it up in time. He bit down hard, bracing himself even as he instantaneously snapped the other wand in his hand.

He was falling backwards at once, before the bolt even hit, the rush of energy from the snapping of the wand pushing him back. He supposed he hoped, deep down, it would pass over him as he fell back. Even though he knew, at the very bottom of his heart, that it wouldn't.

He thought of his mother and his father.

Of Bill, who'd just so narrowly escaped this very fate.

Of Charlie and his bloody stupid dragons.

Of Ron, who he wished he'd told how proud he was.

Of Ginny, who was so much like them.

And of George, his other half. His better half.

He didn't want to leave them. Not yet. Not ever. But everybody had to die sometime, right?

Then he looked at Angelina's face, horrified as she strained to get to him, and closed his eyes shut, wanting her face to be the last thing he saw.

Green light enveloped him.

A split second later, he hit the ground.

"NO!" Angelina shouted, tears already streaming down her face. As Bellatrix turned to her, shields down, Angelina flung herself forward, even as Podmore raced to Fred's side.

Philips, clutching a doll and her wand, slid around the corner just in time to see Fred hit the ground, green light fading around him. Her mind went blank, and the doll dropped. Too late, again. Her wand raised before she even knew what she was doing.

She took one glance at Podmore, who was frantically checking the boy. He looked up at her, and she saw the look of hopelessness in his eyes. The spell had hit true, not deflected by a mirror or miscast. No one could be brought back from Avada Kedavra.

She raised her wand at Bellatrix, who was already trying to avoid a tall, very pretty girl who seemed bent on strangling her. Dodging the girl, Bellatrix found herself caught between two wands pointed at her. She laughed wildly at their expressions and raised her wand. She flicked it at Angelina, calling, "_Impe_-" She stopped dead.

Her wand had turned into a rubber ferret.

Her gaze flickered over to where Fred lay, his own wand and a broken one across his chest. She dropped the rubber thing, staring at the broken wand. She'd managed to retrieve her original, the one she'd had since age eleven. This boy had broken her wand even as he died.

Angelina burst more thoroughly into tears, but advanced, eyes dangerous behind the water.

Podmore, laughing weakly and thoroughly choked up, stood up, his wand pointed at Bellatrix as well.

Jenny, grim, cast an Anti-Apparition ward about them and stepped forward. She couldn't bring herself to look at Fred. Where he hadn't before, he seemed to look far too much like Gideon now. This was her fault. Completely her fault. But Fred had done it. Sirius would have been pleased. She pointed her wand at Bellatrix's chest.

The woman, alarmed, glanced about, recognizing the fury in the unknown girl's eyes. Bellatrix Lestrange, once a Black, saw her doom written there. After all, hell hath no fury...

The dark lady swore she could hear her cousin's loathed laughter, his voice rising cuttingly in her mind.

Checkmate.


	21. Hollow

A/N: I can't tell you how many times I started writing this chapter.

If you're still interested, a long way down the line through a lot of complications and changes, I'm back to finish this b/c I hate unfinished stories- it isn't fair. Admittedly I'm forging towards a conclusion which I really wasn't before- I was in full out let's-write-a-never-ending-epic swing in those days, but first off I've learned to tell what I want to tell in a briefer way, which is much harder, and though the loose ends aren't so much loose ends as large balls of yarn, I think I know how I can bring them all together and get this done- well. The (tentative) goal is to finish at 25 (ish) chapters, as soon as possible since I'm kind of in a good groove by now without letting my work (now college work) slide. Quite a bit of time put in there, and I'll probably do it anyway, but any reviews would mean a ton (though clearly, I so don't deserve any- so much for a month between updates, try years…..) So though my writing style has changed and I'm trying to get re-in touch with the characters, and stick w/ writing the canon I was in then instead of the canon since HBP, I think this story's going to haunt me a little until I finish it. And for a while there I really just wasn't writing, and then I was writing too many things, but I've never been as productive (we're passing 200,000 words here) as I was on this and I'm shooting for that again.

If you want to see what I wrote over the last year, the only non-original posted-on-the-internet thing I've done in a while, I tackled the Prewett brothers in a current-canon way (because they, particularly, I could not get out of my head) that sort of flowed out of this story, but which- I personally- like better. Check out Fools under lyin' if you want and pleaaaaase review.

Because, honestly, that's why I'm doing this. Especially for those of you who stuck with me from the start, writing to an audience other than my little brother pushed me to write better, to think better. It was a challenge and pleasure, and I owe it to you all- and myself- to tie this one up. The next chapter's more than half way there and for the first time since weeeeelll before I knocked off Fred (that one surprised me, too) I know where I'm going again.

Basically, please review!!

So once more- with feeling- _here we go: _

_((""))_

It hurt.

Someone had shoved a spear through her rib cage. Her breath exhaled in one great gasp and she was struck with a shivering of leaden cold through her, like iron in her veins holding her fast and upright and immobile.

She couldn't see, nothing but blurry impressions of shapes and _him_, and he was oh so clear.

She saw her arm shake and raise but did not feel it, couldn't feel the wand in her hand. She wished desperately in a vaguely aware corner of her mind that she was a better witch than she was.

What the hell was she supposed to use on this sort of a person? The Conjunctivitis Curse? Jelly Legs? Nothing she knew was enough…

It was all well and good for someone like Harry Potter. He could use the Disarming Spell against You-Know-Who and come out all right, but he was a hero. He was born to it.

The dark-haired woman, back stiff and straight, whirled towards Angelina with her arm raised and nearly touching her. The whites of her eyes seemed to retreat against her wild dark irises.

Angelina did not know or care what she was trying to do. "_Impedimenta_," said a voice, and the woman froze with her mouth open revealing stained teeth.

Her mouth began to work again almost instantaneously but suddenly fell as the legs of a woman holding a doll punched through the legs of the woman who'd k- hurt Fred. The dark woman toppled to the ground, head striking the rocks, and it was only then Angelina realized the burst of light had come from her own wand.

The woman with the long curling hair met her eyes for a moment before being the first to look away. Her booted foot pressed against the snow white throat of the lady on the ground and she kept her wand hand raised at the corner behind the straw-haired man with Fred.

Idly Angelina noticed the rocks the woman had slid along had left a liquid like deep-red wine oozing against the jagged tear on the left side of her robes.

The woman shouted a name that made the straw-haired man's face grow grim and suddenly dangerous, that made him step away from Fred. "Dolohov!"

Angelina didn't know who these people were. She recognized the one woman's picture from the paper as an escapee from Azkaban, but she didn't know her name or what she'd done. She only knew that the hate she suddenly felt for this dark wraith of a woman diminished every negative emotion she'd felt in her life to petty meaninglessness.

The murderer's hand, a blue-veined skeletal thing, reached up with a faint glow about it, unnoticed by the woman whose foot was choking her. Thoughtlessly Angelina moved closer and stepped down on it with all the force in her Quidditch-playing legs.

There was a crunch and the woman looked briefly at the girl beside her as a bestial snarl of pain ripped from her pressured throat.

Then there was a man, long features contorted in an ugly sneer, and the square-jawed wizard who'd helped her, Podmore, was bellowing curses at him, an intermingling of insults and enchantments that the man blew off with a curse in Russian that sent off a jet of purple flame. Podmore dropped with a yelp, leaving it heading for Angelina.

Quidditch instinct and reflexes lead her to flatten herself on the ground although the flame never reached her; the other stranger spoke a flurrying mouthful of a word in what Johnson thought was Greek and the flame halted in the air.

Dolohov halted, lifting his wand with a grin. Looking down as his toe hit something, the grin broadened as he noticed the body at his feet.

The sharp pain in Angelina's chest nearly doubled her over as she fought to breathe.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" Podmore bellowed, jumping up to hurl himself on Dolohov even as the woman fired off a red Stunning Spell from her wand. She stepped off the subdued killer, kicking her once in the head to insure she was out and charged forward.

The man backhanded Podmore and blocked the spell simultaneously, sending the latter man reeling even as the Death Eater shook his head in laughing amusement at the woman in front of him.

Podmore landed hard on the ground but stumbled back to his feet, determinedly pulling the boy's body away from Dolohov, whose wand was striking at the woman before him with sabers of purple flame she seemed successful in blocking or avoiding with agility.

One struck her heavily scraped leg and it crumpled beneath her at a bad angle even as she rolled away, bringing up her wand to Silence him. Another purple flame streaked from his wand but its shade was more lilac than violet and its size diminished.

The Russian man stepped back, intending to reverse the spell, but became embroiled in silently blocking the flurry of spells Podmore and the woman between them were hurling at him.

Angelina looked over at Dolohov, who had taken no heed of her, and the apparently unconscious Lestrange.

She remembered the spell the Moody-imposter had shown them, the death spell that rolled off the tongue with such ease.

His voice was in her head as if he was there.

'_Oh but killing him would be easy,' he'd said darkly to Katie when she'd asked how they planned to off Malfoy._

'_And dull," George added, waggling his finger scoldingly, 'disappointingly dull.' He paused. 'Would be briefly satisfying, though. Like chocolate.' He'd tossed Fred a Frog pulled miraculously from his pocket for emphasis._

'_Killing people's for sods,' he'd continued, munching thoughtfully and gesturing with the squirming headless frog. 'Humiliating said sods, that, now that…'_

'_Requires genius,' George continued. His eyes gleamed 'And is far more satiating, like, for instance other recreational-'_

_Alicia's hand clamped over his mouth._

'_Don't finish that sentence, Weasley,' Katie'd warned Fred evenly, as the twin's lips parted in what could be a sentence or a smile, and Angelina had leaned across the table to shove an extra piece of chocolate in his mouth._

She wondered if he'd still think that, staring at the unconscious woman for a moment before a yelp from Podmore interrupted her reverie. Carefully she muttered, "_Petrificus Totalus_."

Angelina Johnson wanted to insure George Weasley would have the opportunity to test every Skiving Snack he possessed and then some on the woman.

Furiously she rubbed the tears from her eyes and blinked hard, her eye catching on the rubber ferret on the ground. Her lips twitched painfully and she forced her weighty eyelids to move up and down until her eyes were clear.

Vindictively she searched the ground around her, watching out of the corner of her eye the big Russian man again throw the leaping Podmore off him, and his recovered voice boomed "_Imperio_."

"_Accio_," Angelina bit, beckoning with her wand.

The straw-haired man jerked and shuddered, turning on the injured woman beside him, wand lifting slowly.

The woman ignored him, concentration fixed utterly on Dolohov and sending lines of fire from her own wand, clashing in the air with his dousing spell.

Johnson weighted the rock that came to her hand grimly and drew back her arm, carefully toned by practice twice a day since they'd signed her.

The movement was familiar and easy, her aim perfect. The amount of force and drive she threw into it was enough to wrench her arm out of practicing shape.

She knew she was no great trick as a witch, but Angelina Johnson was a helluva Quidditch player.

Podmore, shuddering and with a pained noise wrenching from his throat, dropped his wand and fell to his knees. Dolohov turned his head in slight consternation, deflecting a Shattering Curse from the grim woman before him and silently gauging if he had enough time to permanently obliterate the nuisance of Sturgis Podmore.

It arced gracefully, a strangely beautiful movement, and thwacked against the spot slightly above where a right ear had been before the night Dolohov had murdered Gideon Prewett and his brother.

The sneering grin remained in place as he gently swayed, the rock tumbling and bouncing back to the earth at the feet of his opponents. His eyes flickered once and went blank and the grin became stupid in appearance as he toppled backward.

"Holy," said Podmore, swearing. He clambered off his knees, turning and gaping at Angelina, who was sprinting towards Fred's… Fred. Sturgis repeated the sentiment before continuing. "Bleeding Mungo. Bleeding blessed Mungo. Have you got an arm. Holy- have you got an arm! Is- Philips, is he dead?"

"Dunno," she returned curtly, voice mechanical. She aimed her wand at Dolohov. "_Incarcerous_. Don't care. He's down." Ropes appeared from nowhere and knotted themselves tightly around the fallen man. Pressing her hands against the ground, she attempted to stand, but her leg gave out the instant she attempted to put pressure on it.

Podmore eyed the angle. "It's bro-"

He cut off at the look in Philips' eyes. "_Ferula_," she spat, and a splint appeared around her leg, which snapped back to the angle a leg should be at with a crack. She took a breath, feeling as if the air was screaming into her lungs, then held out her hand demandingly to Podmore. He leaned down and draped her arm over his shoulder, raising her with him as he stood.

They turned together at a strangled sound

"_Rennervate_," Angelina tried, voice hopeless as she sank to her knees beside her former teammate, one hand on his unmoving chest as the other aimed her wand at his heart.

A red light flashed but he did not move, his chest did not lift, and she shook, voice wobbling as the world began to swim around her again, everything blurring around the flame of Fred's red hair. "Re- re-"

Podmore exhaled softly and her head turned to find them.

She climbed to her feet, drawing herself up and tilting her chin. Softly, demandingly, she ordered, "Fix this."

Both were pale with shock and perhaps blood loss, Podmore's upper sleeve with sticky red. They did not exchange looks as she'd half-expected, but the man simply chewed his lips and the woman, Philips, closed her eyes.

When she opened them again Angelina saw for the first time they were a bright light blue that seemed oddly familiar, and she thought the woman looked suddenly old, her tanned skin lined and bags sagging from underneath her bright eyes, the only part of her that did not appear tired. She had a look on her face like she wanted to smile or cry but couldn't do either.

"Angelina… She's tried," Sturgis said raspily, and Angelina didn't know what he meant until he nodded at the woman he was supporting. His mouth twisted. "How'd that go for ya, Philips?"

Angelina was almost surprised his entrails weren't expelled from the sheer force of rancor in her look. Ducking from under his arm, she pushed herself upright and limped over to him.

"You're his Angelina Johnson?" she asked dully, bending to examine him. "_Rennervate_," the woman muttered, and there was a flash of red light, brighter and broader than the one Angelina's wand had pulsed, but no sign of any movement from the pale boy. She blinked and spoke to the man. "Tie up Lestrange, Podmore."

He shook his head, giving her a look that was half resentment and half pity. "Same ol' Jenny." He walked slowly, shoulders slumped, to the woman's prone form to cast the spell tying her with ropes.

"It hit him dead on," Angelina managed, voice rising in a hysterical gulp she hated. "I- and, I- I'm Angelina- did he mention me then?"

"Yes," Jenny Philips said slowly. "He did."

"A-an-and just who the hell are you people and w-wh- WHY?"

Philips blinked, and her jaw clenched, her back straightening a bit. "Because she's her and because he's him and maybe a little 'cause he was with me."

She felt her spine go stiff. "Oh?" she tried to say coolly, hating the woman on sheer principle, but it came out as more of a muffled sob. "And who _are_ you?"

The woman looked over her shoulder at her, face pained as she seemed to consider the question. "I, uh… I baby-sat for the Weasleys, back- back before either of you were born." Her face told Angelina the pointlessness of trying to resurrect Fred even as she sent out a succession of red bursts into his chest with her wand, but even that had no effect.

"Clearly you were a real hand at that," Podmore threw in.

Her pale eyes flickered angrily, something fierce and old in them.

"We have to get him to Mungo's," Angelina gasped, shaking her head in denial.

"Not Mungo's," she said darkly, shaking her head. "No. We're into time-travel or resurrection spells now…"

"D-does that work?"

Philips met her eyes, her own water-bright and steady. "Mayb- somet… no."

"I- I want him back. He's George's and Ron's and Ginny's and Mrs. Weasley's and mine too and they can't take him. Sh-she can't," she said, hating herself for beginning to blubber, hating the way Philips' eyes seemed to _know_, understand when she couldn't, she shouldn't, and most of all hating Fred for dying and George for not being there to save him.

_Crack_!

"Blarmy," managed Podmore, covering his face as he spotted the dark-robed, masked figure appear in the slight distance.

Philips was up and standing on her leg as if it wasn't splinted, although Angelina caught the grimace on her face.

_Crack! Crack! Crack!_

"Get gone," Podmore hissed, coming up behind her.

"No," she answered just as quickly, grip tightening on her wand, ready to kill or be killed.

He shoved her back towards Fred, almost roughly. "Take him and get gone!"

"W-"

"Don't be daft," Podmore answered gruffly. "He died to save you, you have to live, like it or not- eh, Philips?"

"Get him out of here," she said quietly. "To- his brother."

She opened her mouth to protest, her eyes ceasing to stream from sheer anger and disbelief, but Podmore pushed her back again even as she took a step forward. "Why d'you think Diggory wanted Potter to take the body?" he said fiercely, and his eyes, too, were too bright. "They- go, girl. Go."

The numbers were increasing, the black-robed figures gathering, and red streams of light were shooting in their direction, brilliant and oddly beautiful in the black Azkaban night.

A word was ringing in Angelina's mind with horror as she saw the pain in Podmore's eyes, the stiff rigor of Philips' too-thin frame.

_Inferi_.

"Where?" she asked desperately, "where's safe?"

An awareness shot into Jenny's eyes and she fumbled into her pocket for a piece of paper. Turning with a wince, she thrust it into Angelina's hand. "Go there," she insisted, ignoring Podmore's look of horror as he realized what it was even as he cast the Shield Spell. He mouthed a nasty insult not only attacking her brain capacity but suggesting her mother had done something quite unlikely with the Giant Squid.

Angelina nodded. She had passed Apparition with flying colors on her birthday, months before Fred and George were able to take their tests. She swallowed, dove for Fred's wrist and almost cried out as it was already chilled by the night air. Swiftly she unraveled the paper.

Philips, with a wave of her wand, broke the Anti-Apparition Spell in time for Angelina to vanish with a _crack!_ along with the still form of Fred Weasley.

"Good on you, Philips," Sturgis managed bleakly. "Wonder what Gideon'd think, that being his lil' cousin and all….."

She took a deep breath that barely restrained a shudder. "Podmore," Philips said wearily, deflecting a Stunning Spell as the Apparating Death Eaters drew near. He glanced over at her, even as both simultaneously sized up how best to defend themselves, keep captive Lestrange and Dolohov, and prevent Azkaban from being taken. "Up yours."

""""""""""("")"""""""""""

He flinched.

The tremor spread and he found to his half-bemused uncertainty he couldn't stand. Lee grabbed him by the elbow as his knees gave out.

To their knowledge, they'd never had any odd connection that they'd heard was applied to some twins. George had broken his foot once during the period when Bill was trying to teach himself to dance and Fred had failed to experience so much as a twinge in his little toe. They finished each other's sentences, but then they had always understood so perfectly the mind of the other that there was no need for any telepathy between them, however wicked cool and enjoyable that would have been. The pair experimented frequently in attempts to spark such mental rapport, but this more often than not resulted in the twins backed frantically against walls, gesturing at each other with increasingly panicked and rude hand signals as the dim circle of Filch's lamp drew nearer and Mrs. Norris continued to sit between them caterwauling loudly.

In a small pocket of his mind, George Weasley heard his friend Lee Jordan ask him in a faraway voice whether he was alright but it didn't register anymore than the grip of the hands that began to shake his shoulders.

They'd always slept in the same room.

It was one of the many things he always knew with positive certainty he could count on. If he woke up in the middle of the night, it only took an "OY, FRED!" or the chucking of a handy object to rouse his brother from his bed on the other side of the room. Whether dragging him along to get a glass of water or to attack Ron in his sleep or for a very late in the night game of Quidditch with Charlie before he went off to chase bleating dragons, Fred, while typically asleep, was always there. Upon the rare occasion when some bothersome thought kept him awake against his wishes, it was a simple enough thing to fall into his brother's breathing pattern and drop into slumber himself.

Ginny swore up and down they snored in harmony.

He was occupied in trying to comprehend the utter absence of what he could best define, relate to, as the sound of his brother's breath across the room they'd shared all their childhood in.

There was a horrid chasm, a gaping hole that screamed across the mind he modestly called brilliant that none of the words in his rather unlimited vocabulary could begin to describe. The pain gripping his chest could not be compared to anything he had experienced before in his admittedly thus brief life.

Faraway threads of his mind already grasped vainly for the escape valve. The back door.

They always left themselves a back door.

The trouble was, it was usually George who made sure there was one.

With numbed and distant fingers that felt as if they were covered in gloves, he raised a hand haltingly to his eyes to find they were tearing. Before he quite knew what was going on, his wand was in his hand and he was on his feet, deaf and blind to all around him and in front of him.

He raised his wand and turned in the wizarding manner of departure, in something of a pirouette, oblivious to Lee yanking on his arm and bellowing for his attention, with only two thoughts in his stunned mind.

He needed to get to Fred.

And someone was going to die in the most excruciatingly painful way his creative mind could devise.

He was unconscious to the scream tearing with feral violence from his throat, though the pain it carried and retribution it promised were as transparent to his mind as any wisp of spirit could hope to be.

Something had gone terribly, horribly, excruciatingly wrong.

With no clear destination in mind, the potentially most dangerous man in the British Isles at the moment shook his friend off with alarming ease as he Disapparated.

He _would_ fix this.

They hadn't had enough adventures yet for Fred to embark…alone… on his last.

""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""

It could mean only one thing.

His hand nervously twirled one of his dreadlocks, brilliantly white teeth visible in his gaping open mouth.

George had been _screaming bloody murder_.

Lee, shuddering as he headed away to avoid the glances of Muggles peering down the alley to see what was going on, knew he would never be able to use the expression cavalierly again. Presumably in his life.

He wasn't sure when tears began leaking down his broad nose, carving a path to his chin.

He wasn't sure of anything at the moment.

The deadened look in George Weasley's jovial whiskey-foam eyes had been more frightening than Lee would have believed possible.

He could only stick his wand out and wait for the Knight Bus to arrive because he didn't trust himself to Apparate. His only hope was St. Mungo's, the location of the only remotely helpful person he knew the location of, Ginny, who seemed to have a knack at _doing_ things when they were called for.

The difficulty was in stopping the tears long enough to gasp out his destination to the purple-garbed conductor.

"""""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""""

It was a mere glimpse of loopy handwriting.

_Mr. Wood,_

_You will find the Order of the Phoenix currently residing at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

It spoke nothing of the dingy dark hall or the house elves head's lining the wall, the remains of a Christmas garland on the banister they landed up against, or how weighty Fred's form felt and how she would bite through her lip holding onto his hand, keeping him with her through Apparation.

It did not warn her Ron Weasley would be standing right in front of her, wand raised and eyes growing slowly wider, or that Mad-Eye Moody would have her by the scruff of her neck in second's flat.

"Since when," the old man growled, eyeing her up and down, "do Death Eaters wear green and gold?"

"Off her, Prof- er, Moody, she's not a murderous nutjob, she's my Qudditch captain," Ron said defensively, nervously prying Moody off her. "What's wrong with Fred?" he said abruptly, then met her eyes as he looked up.

She couldn't speak and she couldn't look away. Her hand stayed clutched to Fred's wrist, her arm cradling his shoulders as his form sagged.

He halted in his tracks, growing progressively paler till his freckles nearly jumped off his skin.

He gulped and snapped his head back towards the stairs. "HERMIONE!!" he hollered up with the ringing force of every breath in his body.

"""""""""""""""""("")"""""""""""""""

Their faces were bobbing beside his, and his elbows brushed against them as he moved. He half-cringed.

For the first time in a long time, Remus Lupin felt crowded.

"You can sit down," he offered, as casually as possible.

"We're fine," Wood said shortly, grimacing.

"We really can't anyhow," Ginny said bluntly.

The former professor turned his head in her direction enough that she could see his raised eyebrow.

"We were chased by Stingers, right?" Wood offered expectantly. "They favor certain sorts of spells, yea?" At Lupin's noncommittal expression, he shrugged. "Ah, well, I wouldn't suppose you'd know a thing like-"

"They have ointments for that sort of thing," he interjected, shaking his head as he measured out the quantity of Crup's blood into a narrow bottle.

The two young people exchanged looks over the crackling brew, as it made unpleasant squidgy noises with the popping of each bubble. The amount of noise seemed to be steadily increasing.

"And, ah, you really know what you're doing, Professor?" Oliver asked skeptically, leaning over the cauldron,

"Yes, though your concern is appreciated, Oliver," Lupin said politely, teeth gritted.

"Not a problem, Professor," he affirmed cheerily, before pausing to reconsider his instinctive response.

Ginny surreptitiously kept her hand poised in thought over her mouth and, conveniently, her nose. "You're sure about the linnet's wings?"

"Yes, Ginny," he said patiently. He was not a great hand at Potions, admittedly, but this was bordering on ridiculous. He was being second-guessed by a backup Quidditch player and a fifth year girl, despite all age and accreditation suggesting he knew full well … "No," he said with a frown, peering at the simmering liquid of the powerful awakening potion, "no, ahm, I think you were right about the linnet's wings, my apologies, Ginny- Oliver, the strainer- ahh-"

The potion puffed out purple haze into their faces, but Lupin coolly dispelled it with a swift flick of his wand.

He took a breath to give him time to repair his dignity and broke into a coughing fit, echoed by the young wizard and witch but with less of a gasp in their throats.

"Messier Lupin?"

Wood felt his ruddy cheeks flare crimson, but luckily no one was looking in his direction.

Fleur Delacour sashayed into the fading remnants of fog, silvery hair swishing and expression eagerly helpful. Her lips puckered prettily for a moment as she took in the sight of the wheezing trio. "A man iz 'ere to see you."

"He's very busy," Ginny answered for him, before Lupin quite got control of his voice back.

She frowned, her perfect lips puckering. "'E seems a beet, ah, _dishabille_."

"Oh?" said Lupin lightly.

"'Ow you say," Fleur considered, noticing the blank expressions, "dis- dis- well, 'e ees cut all over and speeking very loudly and een a most deesturbin' manner. A crazy man 'oo says 'e needs must speak wit' you, Monsieur Lupin."

His gaze sharpened. "Does he have a name?"

Fleur sniffed, lifting her shoulders slightly in a movement too elegant to be called a shrug. "'E eez tall and dark and zere ees a great deal of blood- I do not like 'im," she elaborated helpfully. "And by ze way, Ginevra, your face, eet iz violet."

The puff of purple had left plenty of residue. Grimly, she wiped at it with the sleeve of her robe, glaring at the purple streaks that appeared against the black.

"Eet does not suit," Fleur mused. "I will 'ave to keep that in mind. Purple ees out for ze dresses, zen. Mmm..."

Remus managed a weak smile. "Fleur? The man." She blinked at him, nodding. "Send him in," he said in a gentle tone more suggestion than command. Her description left him wary. It fit too many people he used to know.

"'E eez humming and 'e frightens me," she warned, gliding out of the room in Mungo's Potions Chambers she had secured for them with her dazzling smile.

Wood cleared his throat, a bit hoarse after Fleur's presence, and uttered a bemused, "_Ginevra_?"

She was too busy staring after Fleur to scowl. "Dresses?" she wondered in horror, voice rising. "What dresses?" She pushed by Wood and even steered Remus aside as she scampered after the half-veela. "Fleur! What dresses?"

Remus churned his rising laugh into a subtle cough and calmly, turned back to the steaming cauldron.

""""""""""("")""""""""""""

She was not ready for this.

For Diggle appearing at her house at a strange hour, tipping his green top hat apologetically, yes. To be whisked back to the wizarding world while her parents were escorted via Floo to the country home of a friend of her father's from secondary school, yes. She had planned and waited. She was prepared.

She had not prepared enough.

Her thumb rested briefly against the hollow of Fred Weasley's neck.

"Try again," Ron ordered hoarsely.

Briskly she stepped back, her lower lip pressed fiercely between her teeth. She started to say something but managed only a gasp. "Oh, _Ron_…"

"Hermione!" he snapped back, eyes red and panicked. "Can you fix him or not??"

Moody was pacing, peering out the window.

She took a tentative step toward him. "_Ron_-"

"THEN WHAT THE BLOODY GOOD ARE YOU!" he bellowed, forcibly shoving her aside. His face was wet and flaming. She stepped back into his path as he reached to grab his brother's wrist.

"Get out of my way," he threatened in a lower voice, cursing at her.

"Stop it," she told him in a low, thick voice, eyes on Angelina. The older girl was seated on the bare wood floor, Quidditch robes puddled about her feet.

"If you can't do it, I'll find someone who can," Ron said fiercely. "He's Fred. He's alright. He's got to be alright. Some prank- WHERE'S GEORGE?"

"She doesn't know, Ron!" Hermione shouted back. She tasted saltwater against her tongue and took in stride that she was crying.

"AND YOU- WHAT'RE YOU LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW AT? You're an Auror!!! You're supposed to SAVE him!!"

"Get it out, boy," said Moody, nodding his ravaged face at him. "Rage at it. Not at her, though. Nothing the girl can do."

"But- but there's something," he said brokenly, physically shaking. "There's always something- Gerroff me, 'Mione! We-"

"Welcome to war," he said sweepingly.

"It's not my war!" Ron snapped, bitterly. "HARRY'S war, NOT Fred's, n-"

"RON!" bit Hermione, who seemed voice to strike him.

"ABOUT TIME!" a voice screeched from the wall behind the curtain. The piercing caterwaul of Sirius' mother in her waning haggy days boomed through the hall. "MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD-TR-"

Hermione whirled before Ron could, wand arm out rigid and bushy hair circling her like a halo. There was a roll and a swift clap, like thunder snared in an hourglass striking the time, and the curtains turned to little more than rags.

The hall was filled with the empty sound of an echo's end.

The frame was still firmly affixed to the wall, the canvas intact, but most of the paint remained only in a dark swirl of oil based color on the floor, only a steady drip-drip revealing it had ever once been on the canvas.

Moody whistled once, long and low through scarred lips.

Her face crumpled. "I- I've been reading u-uh-uppp…" The sob escaped her throat for only a moment, but she gasped a deep breath of air and regained composure. Her wand was slipped back into her robe pocket, and her hand whirled out, stopping just shy of Ron's cheek and a slap.

"You don't blame Harry," she told him harshly. "Don't say it, then. I know, Ron, I know, but please, please, don't make me hit you. I will if I have to, though." She hesitated, eyes brimming, but choked it out. "Fred would've already slapped you silly."

"Hermione," Ron managed, tears bunching in his eyes. "He isn't supposed to die. He isn't-" His knees gave out and he stumbled, but righted himself. "How'm I- wha- how do I tell Mum?" he asked weakly.

Angelina looked up from the floor and from Fred for the first time, eyes cloudy. "I don't understand why no one's here. I don't- where are all of you? This Order? There's two people at Azkaban and- and- where are you all?"

Moody's staff clanged against the wood. "Sweet Circe," he breathed. "Buck up," he barked at Ron. "Guts, now, quick Weasley. You, Granger, Floo Powder if you can find it, ways around anti-Apparition wards if you don't."

"What's wrong?" Granger replied sharply.

"Conundrums," Moody said, spitting the word. "_Strategy_. I told Albus we should have moved on already, told him it's no good staying in one place, headquarters itself is a damn fool idea- never in one place, Albus, never _all_ in one place or the enemy'll wet itself trying to decide who to whack first, see, why the whole Order's such a damn fool notion, but, no he wanted another week to settle things at the next headquarters. That we were all right as the place is Potter's, now-"

"What're you on about?" Ron demanded darkly, with a forceful interruption.

"Harry's?" Angelina exclaimed bleakly, looking around at the grim surroundings in amazement. "I- I don't understand-"

"You with the brains," he growled at Hermione, "where's the gain in sending us all about and knocking Muggles Mungo's way?"

She looked around her and swallowed. "Oh," she choked. She grabbed onto Ron's sleeve. "We have to go, Ron."

He wiped frantically at his eyes.

Moody's mouth twisted. "Hastily," he added, gesturing. "Move, move-"

"""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""

Remus had excellent ears.

Until the man spoke, he never heard him.

"You're doing that wrong."

"Messier -," Fleur cut in, entering out of breath as Remus straightened from the cauldron he was bent over and turned around to see who had entered their confiscated room. "Sorry," she gasped, "'e moves faster zen I t'ought."

Wood had his wand out, just in case.

"It's alright, Fleur," said Remus, gesturing lightly that she could leave. She did, a bit huffily, though Ginny, who had reappeared behind her, did not.

"Said you're doing it wrong, mate, by the smell alone, and jeez, what's with the kidlets? Will the rest scamper if you tell 'em?"

"No," piped up Ginny evenly, folding her arms. "Don't do scampering. Terribly sorry."

The stranger was very tall, and he gazed down on her. He had strange ointment of a yellowish shade slapped on his right cheek, over what appeared to be deep gouges. "Hmm. Well don't you remind me o' somebody." He grinned through a bloody lip over her head at Lupin, flashing disturbingly white teeth. "Cute retinue, mate. Anyhow," he continued, stepping forward. He had a long-legged stride, smooth and lazy, a sort of rambling walk. "You want some valerian in that. And licorice. Heavy duty awakening potion, yeah?"

"Possibly," Remus allowed, frowning. "What worth should I hold your word at it?"

The man grinned still broader, then winced. It looked painful, as his skin was extremely red, and a faint burn was peeling on his cheek. "Fancy way o' asking who the hell I'm, right? And in case you mean how'd I know what I'm talking about, well, believe you me, I know my way around awakening potions. Leftover from my days high on Floo Powder."

He stuck out his hand. "Doyle Fitzgerald. I know who you are, Lupin."

Remus, studying his features, took it. "And you're Jenny's man."

He pulled a face. "'Sway a'putting it, yeah. On a good day. Where is she?"

He had a good height on Remus, but then so had Sirius and Gideon. He was broad in the hand, slim in the face, and not quite as good-looking as the men in her past, though in Remus' limited experience women seemed to find something attractive in slightly asymmetrical looks like this Irishman's. A once-broken twist to the nose and a sharp smile suggested a dangerous man, as did the calloused knuckles and thin white scars tracing all about his pale hands, a detail the werewolf acutely observed immediately. His hair was a dusty nondescript brown, flopping from a prominent widow's peak.

Remus Lupin hadn't met a predator's gaze in a long time. He avoided the company of werewolves, when possible, when Dumbledore didn't need him to venture to their haunts to gather whispers, which soon enough he would again.

His eyes were frosted green, so pale it was barely a color, but piercingly direct nevertheless. It might have been hard to pin where the whites of this Fitzgerald's eyes began but for the darker rim around them. They showed the lie to his humanity.

Lupin knew few vampires. Of what he knew of them, he knew little to like.

"She'll show," he offered simply.

The bloke scoffed. "'S what she always tells me. As always, there's a jam she doesn't know about and I don't want her walking into it, so I need to know. And quick." He seemed earnest.

Remus found himself reminded, disturbingly, of James.

"What problem?" Lupin asked swiftly.

His face creased and he stretched his hand, cracking his knuckles. "There some kinda roost around here this Dark Lord might be after?"

The words rolled about in his mind for a moment, and as they clicked, Lupin lunged for his mirror. "Wood!" he ordered out the side of his mouth. "Add some valerian and licorice!"

"Two-tenths a vial and five pinches should do," Fitz offered helpfully.

Wood, who had attacked the nearby cabinet with a vigor, looked over with some bewilderment. The cupboard was filled with bottles. "What size vial might that be, now?"

"""""""""""""""""""("")""""""""""""""

She was still a fool.

The briny air bit her face, but she was moving too quickly to be cold. She ignored the leg. Couldn't do anything more about it. Could feel it, though. Shame she'd never taken to the Healing arts, not in the slightest, but then that had never been her style.

The slender robed man in the lead was not slinking enough to be Avery nor lumpy enough to be a Carrow. Lestrange, then. Rodolphus hesitated when he moved on his left leg and he favored Stunning Spells. She did not know how he would fight without Bellatrix, or how he would fight for her. The towering figure had to be Yaxley, seeing as Crabbe and Goyle were locked up. She vaguely remembered he had a powerful grasp of shielding charms.

She did not know them well enough. These men and the sketchy robed figures alongside them, these were no Rosier or Travers who she could have read as plain as Pythagoras. A few Knockturn recruits and two of the Inner Circle. It could be worse. She vaguely wondered on the whereabouts of McNair and Mulciber, who she'd have rather taken anyday, but neither of them showed any sign.

Most of those she had grown fighting against, and fighting alongside, were dead, or in the prison behind her.

Still, she could probably take them.

The odds weren't bad, not as bad as they might have been, and they expected the Ministry to show, the patrolmen. Hestia was on her way. Maybe others.

No Greyback, thank gods.

She could probably take them.

What worried her was the probably.

Jenny Philips hadn't dealt in probablies for a good long while.

The man at her back did not care for her enough to hate her. She was at one of the few places on earth that still frightened her.

It was her fault that Gideon's-

No.

It was her fault _Fred_ was dead.

Worse still.

"_Stupe_-"

They came, then.

"_Dementors_," hissed Sturgis, voice ragged. The word seeped like a curse from his clenched teeth.

Her face twisted in exasperation, though she scarcely looked in his direction. Jenny'd noticed.

"They're not on – _Impedimenta!_ - our side, are they?"

She brandished her wand. "_Expecto Patronum_!"

"Yup, didn't think so. _Colloportus!! _Huh, you always have a phoenix, Philips?"

She responded with a curt demand. "Patronus, Podmore!"

"Can't!" he spat back. "I'm shit with Charms!"

She blinked. "There's a lot of them." She brought up a shielding spell silently to block upcoming jinxes. It didn't hold very well. She'd practiced for enough years, but she'd never done well with unspoken spells.

"I can see that, I'm not a Muggle!" he hurled at her, tossing her a furious glance. His straw-like hair was stringy against his strong-boned face, eyes rabid.

She wished it was Fitzgerald at her back.

"Jen," he sputtered, after a moment of retreating and advancing again to regain position near the prone forms of Bellatrix and Dolohov, sending a flurry of streaking red spells and frantically blocking Summoning Spells from the Death Eaters for their unconscious brethren.

Idly, she frowned at Bellatrix's form. She'd have sworn she tied her… Distracted by a sudden deep chill, she looked up and barely held back a gasp.

Like beaten ragged black sails, the dementors spread around them. The Death Eaters fell back, and the silvery shimmer of Philips' phoenix Patronus cycled around them. If anything, it seemed to be shining dimmer. It had ceased barreling the dark ethereal figures down and managed only to push them back, rushing around to keep them in line.

"We got to go," Podmore said, teeth chattering.

Her lips curled. "Lestra-"

"We're talking worse than death- _worse than death_-"

"_Exspecto Patroni_!!"

He heard a thud of bone on stone as her kneecaps hit the ground hard, a squickier sound from her splinted leg, but he couldn't see it, the white light was too bright. He grabbed her arm, which he found in his hand to be startlingly thin, terribly firm, and yanked her upright. "Years away and all you pick up's a little crap Latin spell variation and the inability to retreat. Charming, Guineviere. _Diffindo! _Try and pull something like that before someone dies next time, alright?"

She half-groaned and he thought she cursed at him, but he was too busy casting the Severing Spell through the dense shininess in front of him and the general dementor-goring he assumed to be going on. There was ringing pop! and somebody screamed; Sturgis cheered for his apparent good aim. It turned into a sputter as Bellatrix Lestrange rose to her feet and pointed her wand at Jenny, and, coincidentally, at Sturgis.

She looked queerly demented in this light. More so than usual, mad-eyed and mouth stilled.

Sturgis was distinctly disturbed.

He raised his wand and started thinking hard but knew, knew she would be too fast for him.

A poorly executed left hook with considerable force slammed into the dark witch's thin face.

She crumpled.

"Cheers, bitch," said a cold, familiar voice.

For a moment Sturgis' spirits rose as he stared at the features of the boy Lestrange had killed so recently, and then it registered. The young man was trembling, burning, but his wand hand was steady and his expression grim as the ghost.

George Weasley may have looked like death, but he was all too alive for his own liking. His eyes flashed.

"Where's my brother?"


	22. Picking Up Pieces

A/N: I was trying to finish the whole thing before I posted anymore, so I could do them in pretty close succession, but a few crucial sections are stalling me. It is on a roll, though- some parts of it, anyhow, but I'm trying to move the actual plot again- very very slowly, but surely. Thanks to all of you who came back, and above all, those of you who lemme know you were.:) Honestly, I totally can't believe how much time has gone by since I started it- and hey, since you last read it. Thanks especially to otahyoni (you've been with the story longer than anyone except, well, me), to DanceDiva (can't promise I won't make you cry again, now that I know where I'm going) and to ArcticDemon (there is no greater compliment than that this story got you hooked, so even though there's definitely much better stuff out there which I'm sure you've found by now, gotta love addictions.)

At the rate I'm going the next chapter should be up soon-soon (meaning I'm hoping to measure it in days, not months, but somehow with me it's always iffy).

So anyway, finally, progress, enjoy and pleaaaase review. ;) It means a lot.

"""""""""(""")"""""""""""""'

"It's bad, then," he said flatly, taking in Podmore's expression. The man didn't meet his eyes.

George fingered the Luminous Balloons in his pocket, cursing them with the most powerful explosion hex he knew, and hurled them at the Death Eaters through the Patroni fog.

He hoped it took their heads off. "Where is he?" he demanded.

"George…" said Sturgis, wincing heavily.

Philips met his eyes from her half-crouched posture, expression as blank as his. "He's dead."

"No, he's not," he replied viciously. His knuckles were white around his wand. "He's not."

"Then why're you here, Georgie?" Sturgis replied softly, kindly for him.

He didn't respond, turning back towards the enemy. "_Diffindo_!" he bit, repeating himself frantically until he got the satisfaction of a scream, and began digging into his deep pockets for something still more painful than severing body parts.

The Death Eaters were pushing their way through silvery mist with its attacking shining birds, venturing where the dementors no longer could.

George hurled his Peruvian Darkness Powder at them, and the mist blackened.

"Where is he?"

Podmore cleared his throat roughly. "Angelina Johnson, she-"

"She was here??" he demanded, sounding furious but unsurprised. "She was here and I- FRED!" he bellowed, painfully. "FRED!! YOU GIT! YOU- YOuuu…" He shuddered, swearing in a steady stream, and fished into his pockets. "They're gone, then? They -they're- where?" he repeated, voice breaking.

"George-"

"He's NOT!" he snapped back, angry. He brandished his wand at them, and half-started a spell when Jenny wearily raised hers at him. He halted himself when she Stunned a Death Eater over his shoulder. "_Where?_"

"Headquarters," the man replied, and Podmore let go of the somewhat recovered witch with a mix of relish and relief, leaving her a little staggered as he hustled to cast a stronger Binding spell on Dolohov, who had stirred. Sturgis, with a little effort, recast a strong Shielding Spell around their group.

The spark of anger in his eyes deadened to wood again. "This is silly," said George brokenly, looking around. They fixed on the woman he had knocked over and flared once more.

"I'm-"

"You're silly," he snapped back without taking his eyes from where they had fixed on Bellatrix. "They're just going to Apparate around you and head to the prison in a minute, and you're going to get yourself Kissed. And Lestrange?" He kicked viciously at the woman's crumpled form. "Lestrange?"

She understood. "Yes," she breathed.

"You stop me if I try to kill her?" It was a question, not a request.

Jenny shook her head, eyes dull. "No."

George nodded vaguely. His chin shook. "We go. She's coming." He paused, coming up with something from his pocket. "_Engorgio_," he spat. It was a brightly multi-colored disk, etched with the cheerful emblem Wheezely! and a stuck-out tongue.

"What's that?" Jenny asked quietly, using the Banishing Spell to knock back Death Eaters who had Apparated behind them, trying to forge through the other side of the circle of murky fog.

"A toy," George said dully. "A chewy toy. How do you give it spikes?"

She hesitated.

"Else I'll just make it explodable." He held his wand above it, expression challenging.

If Death Eaters died, good. "_Acercrio_."

The round edges glinted with metal.

His grin spread wide as a skull. He held it slightly below the waistline and sent it spinning. It leaped forward in the air directly, whirring and lunging at Death Eaters. It began to herd them about, even as George busied himself with Flesh-Eating Foam.

"Grab the bastard," she told Podmore where he stood by Dolohov, and with a flick of her wand. Bellatrix, limp once more, floated upright.

George turned and stared at the woman's form, forgetting the foam about the leak across his hand. He glanced at Jenny, almost accusingly.

"I won't stop you," she said chilly.

He jumped, bit as a drop of foam ate into his palm, and without a thought flicked a streak at Bellatrix, where it hit her cheek. Still floating, she failed to even twitch as the flesh sizzled. "I want her to suffer," he said with venom, more powerful than that in his hands. George sized her up bleakly, letting out a hiss of air from between his teeth. "I'll leave her to _Mum_."

He breathed in deep and wished he hadn't. "Apparate," he nodded at them. "I'm casting it to mist. Headquarters."

"We can't take Death Eaters to headquarters," Podmore muttered, shaking his head. He was on his knees, Dolohov half-raised before him as a human shield. "_Incendio_!"

There were shouts and spells from further beyond the mist, out of the range of their visibility, but the sight of figures shooting bright streaks of spells at the figure who had burst into flame suggested the Wizarding Hit Patrol had regrouped at long last.

Dismally, Jenny forced a nod. She stepped forward on her shaking feet and reluctantly gripped Lestrange's wrist, wishing her nails were long instead of clipped the better to dig into the paper skin.

"Headquarters," repeated George. He was levitating the spurting package in front of him with strong intent.

"You go," she said hoarsely. "With Sturgis. I'm into Azkaban. With them." She glanced at George. "Don't hit the whips," she instructed, using slang for the patrolmen.

He didn't reply, but gazed blankly back, waiting for them to get out of the way.

"Whoa no," said Sturgis, rising. "I'm with you."

"What? Why?" she replied back, shocked.

He snorted. "Hestia's on her way here, I'm not leaving her to get boffed along with you. Besides," he said condescendingly, "you can't even walk."

She could too.

She cast a second Shield Spell. The barrage had seemingly stopped, though the shadowy figures remained, busy with the Hit Patrol and attempting to subdue the still-cycling disk of death. The dementors, though, were nowhere to be seen- apparently streaking for their old home. "You go to Fred-"

The shudder was back, but his wand stayed steady. "'M not leaving her to get away. She's NOT getting away with it. I'm setting this off. Go. Three counts and I'll follow. One-" he began menacingly.

_Crack!_

Podmore disappeared with Dolohov, presumably to reappear somewhere in the prison.

"George-" started Jenny guiltily.

"'M coming," he snarled. "Two."

Her _crack!_ bit through the fog, and a Death Eater lunged forward with concern, only to be thrown back by a cycling, rapidly fading phoenix-Patronus.

He bent, briefly, to pick up a rubber ferret near his feet and closed his eyes. He felt sick, beyond sick, nothing. He tapped the disk in rapid succession to unleash it, then muttered, "Three." Alone, he vanished with a _crack! _as the foam darted viciously into the air at the nearest robed figures.

((""))

Oliver Wood was finding it increasingly hard to sit still.

His father was on a floor somewhere above him. His mother…

He wanted out of the hospital. There was a din rising from the waiting area behind closed doors, which was bothering his still-splitting headache.

Wood twitched, nervously stretching his fingers. He desperately needed a drink.

"Don't crack up on me, Wood," Ginny muttered, kicking his shin slightly. She was seated next to him, elbows propped up on her lap, palms forming a base beneath her chin. Sitting was an option again; it was a magical hospital, after all. Unfortunately the ointment left a whiff of peppermint, onions, and dragon's blood potent enough to burn nostril hairs.

"Ow," he commented. His shin really stung. He eyed her with a mix of approval and deep-seated apprehension, a feeling startling reminiscent of the uncomfortable itches he got on his spine when Fred and George whipped out the Filibusters and set them crackling on the seat of some unsuspecting Slytherin. Preferably Flint.

He did appreciate she didn't find him cracked already. It was a pleasant change, especially with girls. "Except for the bruise that's going to leave, I'm doing fine," he assured her, a touch too maniacally cheerful. He amended his tone. "Really. I'm all right. Swell, even-" under her dubious sideways glance, he shifted gears in a more blunt direction, "that is- considering." He rubbed at his hair. "Right- yes- considering-"

"Say," said the burlier of the two vampires, the one who hadn't run off with Remus. He crouched near them. "You play for Puddlemere, don't you?"

Ginny tilted her head at a bemused angle, to better catch Wood's expression, which was fluxing somewhere between delighted and pained. "Another one," she said. "The way the night's going, you'd think you were Harry. You might as well have it emblazoned on your robes in sparkly letters, it'd save a great bit of time." She shrugged. "Also," she added thoughtfully, "it would be sparkly."

Wood eyed him skeptically. "Why do you want to know?" he demanded, a flicker in his eye that suggested he was poised to flee. What side are you for?"

The vampire grinned toothily. "I'm a Bats man myself. Anyway- I was hoping you'd sign this for me?" Somewhere he'd snagged a quill and parchment, which he thrust at them.

Ginny snorted.

"Erm," said Oliver. "Not a problem." He hesitated. "You sure you don't have me muddled up with someone else?"

"Wood, innit?" said the vampire, frowning. "Last Kestrels game United had you in play when Troy dinged his head on the post and knocked you half through the hoop."

Wood was somewhat impressed. "All the way through, actually. It doesn't happen that many times a decade; they weren't really designed to fit people." He scrawled his name down, and looked poised to say something further, but didn't as Lupin frenetically rushed back in.

"Alright," snapped the tall man circling around him. "The big man's waking up and your friend's 'll see to the rest. Can we get going?"

"Yes, we'd better," Lupin said grimly, rolling up his sleeves. "Ginny, if Philips shows here, have your father get in touch. We'll be at headquarters. Don't let anyone come after us." He paused. "Except Nymphadora and Charlie. They can-"

"She's a smart girl," hissed Fitz. "I assume she can figure it out."

"Lupin," called Arthur Weasley, hustling up. His face and the top of his head were flushed very red, and he strode closer. He lowered his voice. "The Ministry has a situation."

"Oh?" said Remus, sounding much less alarmed than he actually was.

"A- frankly, our sort of problem-"

"Arthur," Lupin interrupted. For the first time, he sounded fed up. "What do you want of me? I'm not the-"

Arthur interrupted right back. "McGonagall says Dumbledore's not responding, so from where I'm standing, you're the one to go to. Remus. We need to get to Dover. I'm afraid it's critical."

He hesitated only briefly. "Yes. Yes, of course, Arthur, but we need to get a man to headquarters as well."

The man sucked in a breath, somewhat pale. "Ron's at headquarters. Mad-Eye's there, though," he consoled himself. "It's Dover that's the trouble."

"The white cliffs are no skin off my back," Fitz said angrily. "What about this roost of yours? What about the Perilous Gard? _What about Philips_?"

"The Perilous Gard?" Wood repeated. No one paid him any attention.

"Jenny Philips merits some acknowledgment that she can take care of herself," Remus said smoothly.

"That's a load of CROCK!" Fitzgerald hollered. Ignoring the stares, he got control over himself. "She's – she's- fantastically competent," he sputtered out in lower tones, trying to explain himself. "But she has horrific luck. Bucko, you haven't the foggiest, but count on this anywhere she is, though, we're going to have a problem. She's looking for problems. She cannot be trusted to not try and get herself killed." He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing out. "I'm getting consterned," he informed them, his other long arm to reach up to his head. His stork-like elbows poked far out to frame his face. "Seriously consterned."

"About the Gard?" Wood tried again.

Lupin considered the other man. "I think," he said easily, "you mean concerned."

"I think," Fitz said tautly, "I know what I mean a tad better than you do."

Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"Gentlemen," said Arthur urgently. "I'm afraid the situation is dire."

"Isn't it usually?" he muttered. "What's it this time?"

He told them.

Fitz dropped his shoulder. "All right, darlings, we're with you," he gave in sadly.

"We are?" Liam asked, face contorting interestingly. "Fitzy, I'm still sore as a purpled an-"

"Nevermind that," he waved off, looking quite angry. "Francis!" Fitz barked, and the wizard swiveled sharply from where he was painstakingly chatting up a mediwitch. He gestured sharply, crooking a finger.

The non-vampire nearly tripped over himself striding over in earnest. The vampire side-stepped the group to latch onto his friend, draping a clandestine arm over the thin man's shoulder and pulling him close. "I need you to stay here," he muttered.

"Brilliant," replied Francis. "What am I doing?"

"See if she shows. Call me if she shows. Find out where she is from anyone else who shows. And, y'know, help out the French girl with whatever. Oh," he added lightly

and then in a voice so low he was barely mouthing the words, finished sharply, "Call Izzy." He released the other man, clapping him hard on the upper arm and squeezing it in a warm gesture before turning on his heel. He left Francis working his mouth like a steady gum-chewer in an attempt to draw out words, then paused and swiveled back before striding too far. Fitz skittered his gaze over at Lupin, remarking, "Consterned's a word, right?"

Francis swallowed air. "A word, yes. Not a particularly real one."

He frowned. "Real enough, though?"

"I suppose-" Francis started.

"Right then," Fitz said decisively, taking a running step off.

"Fitz?" said the very-confused Francis to Fitz's back. Only great exertion of will kept him from babbling. "That, ah, other matter…?

"Y'heard me," he responded acutely, without turning back. Thumbs hooked into his robe pockets, he strode back towards the others.

"Doy-!"

"Stay," Fitz warned. His posture was not to be argued with.

Arthur Weasley had a solemn line to his mouth and a weak smile in his eyes as he finished speaking to his daughter, whom he had pulled aside.

"Ready then?" the vampire demanded to the werewolf, a touch impatiently.

Lupin shrugged calmly. "Arthur," he called over his shoulder before folding his arm to face Fitzgerald. "We were merely waiting on you."

"Wait no more," he said smoothly, and made for the exit.

Regretfully Liam heaved himself to his feet and handed the signed parchment back to Wood. "You'd best be holding onto that for me."

"Liam!" Fitz ordered, holding open the door.

He scampered after them.

Wood's eyebrows steepled in a somewhat disgruntled fashion. He stared at the swinging doors for a bit, then veered his gaze to the remaining Irish wizard, who was nervously clearing his throat. "Is it a bit important, the Gard?"

Francis looked somewhat peaky. "Yes, I'd say- if you'd excuse me," he managed abruptly, "I'm feeling rather ill." He hurried off.

Wood was pretty sure he was headed in the direction of the little witches' room. Tiredly, he hung his head. He found himself staring on a pair of shoes and lifted it back up.

Ginny was looking at Wood shrewdly. "What's the perilous gard? Some kind of castle?"

His brow stayed creased. "No one would listen to me," he complained. "'S not a castle, perilous or not. It's Yaxley Hall, in Suffolk. Big sort of house thing, with some turrets and such."

She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully, brown eyes sparking. "What's there?"

"The Yaxleys," he said warily. "Not a bad sort, if you leave the delusions of grandeur."

"And the vampire thought it was going to be attacked?" Ginny mused. "Or something a lot less friendly than that. I wonder…"

"Don't," Wood ordered bluntly. "No wondering. No ideas. I know your brothers. And I've seen a bit of you. As far as I'm concerned, the apple doesn't fall far from … the other apples."

"You're forgetting," Ginny reminded him less warmly, "Percy the Ponce."

"He rolled a bit," he acknowledged.

"I feel as useless as he is about now," she grumbled, standing very straight. "The way the week's been going, I hope someone fetches Harry. I wish," she uttered suddenly, "Ron were here."

Wood cocked his head at her. "Really?"

"He's at headquarters," she added quietly. "Which is where we should be. With Professor Lupin gone, there's nothing for us to do here."

He caught the light in her eyes. "Your father said to stay," he insisted stubbornly.

"No," she corrected readily. "He said to stay _safe_. Aside from Hogwarts, where's safer?"

"Right here," said Wood, crossing his arms. As if to make his point, he sat down on the bench against the wall, dropping a little too fast and hitting hard. "Besides," he added, to close the case. "It's not like you can Apparate, and the Floo lines here are so jammed, they're crossing. You and I are staying."

She looked at him coyly, biting the corner of her mouth in thought. "There's Charlie's Cumulonimbus 1000."

He stood very still. then his face reddened and began to purple.

"It's close by to begin with," she continued, as his face reddened. "A matter of minutes. If that, I'm not sure how long it takes. What do you say? Oliver?"

Slowly, his cheeks were turning slightly magenta.

"We could come right back," Ginny added hastily. "Wood? Wood?!"

Oliver opened his mouth and breathed at last. He huffed for a moment, trying to speak. "Charlie's Cu- His cu-his… what- Where," he muttered to himself, "can I start?"

"It's here right over b-"

"Is Charlie?" he vocally pounced, looking almost equally excited at that prospect.

"You're in, then?"

Wood's expression suggested she was mentally incompetent. "Obviously. I'm flying, you realize."

"""""(""""")""""""""""""""

At the moment Ron didn't understand anything.

"They can't come in, though," he argued for what he thought might be the seventh time.

Hermione was still crying, even as she kept her hands busy grabbing everything she thought worth keeping, anything Harry might want. Everyone once in a while she wiped her eyes with a darned pair of Sirius' socks. "You weren't listening to Professor Moody, Ron," she said dismally. "They can flush us out. We have to leave before-."

"The chimney's not safe," interjected Moody grimly, stomping in. "Too much of a risk. You'll find yourselves in enemy hands, and their hooks go far deeper than the navel. Muck about with this and your entrails'll-"

"Stop," said Angelina, strangled and shaking her head. They had moved to the kitchen, pulling Fred along, and she was seated now at the kitchen table. Her hands were still. "Please. Stop."

Surprisingly enough, he stopped. "We'll have to get rid of the body. I might be able to blast some sort of underground escape-"

Ron stood up, fists clenched. "No-"

"Boy," said Moody chillingly. "Let me press this through your hair and skull. There's a dragon parked in front of Number Eleven Grimmauld Street, and it's not your brother with it."

"I hope," said Hermione as stoically as possible, "that you're speaking metaphorically."

Outside, there was a whoosh. "I don't do metaphors," Moody growled back. "We need-"

"Fred and George have stuff in the attic," Ron interrupted suddenly. His lip twitched nervously. "After the other night- they have this sort of thing. They have darts, for disapparating-"

"Higher ground," barked Moody briskly. His wand hand stirred in Fred's direction.

"Ah," Ron started hurriedly, stomach churning at the thought of Fred limply bobbing after them up the stairs. "We'll get him." He took a step towards the form on the floor, so still and un-Fred-like, and his hands chilled and turned to weights dragging on his arms and wrenching his shoulders. "I, uh- I-"

"I'll help you," said Angelina wrenchingly, chin up. "You get his legs, right?"

Hermione was kneading the right side of her red eye nervously, even as she looked up. "There's a spell, to make him lighter-"

"We've got it," Ron replied harshly. He bent, hesitating as his hand brushed Fred's shoe.

She looked down. "I only want to help, Ron."

"You can't," he said blankly, shrugging, and he hoisted Fred's legs. "You got him alright?" he asked Angelina, who was tugging on Fred's arms with some effort.

"Stop snapping at her," the older girl hurled back, straining even with her Quidditch fitness to keep up Fred, particularly since she looked half-ready to collapse already.

Hermione shoved the balled-up pile of Sirius' things into the arms of the perplexed Moody and gently slid next to Angelina, lightly touching her forearm. Breathing unnaturally hard, the other girl moved over a bit for her to slide in, and with effort Hermione took Fred's other arm.

Until today Hermione was relatively sure she'd never actually touched Fred Weasley. Maybe she'd snagged his sweater once or twice to ask him if he'd seen Ron or Harry, or swatted him with her book. It was a strange realization, but she clasped the clammy hand and pulled as hard as she could. She met Ron's forlorn gaze over it and huffed out a breath as they lifted.

"Best hurry," said Moody gruffly, eyeing them strangely. He held the effects of Sirius and the house of Black at a half arm's length, sniffing suspiciously.

Between the three they held up Fred Weasley, and if Hermione's end sagged a little lower than the rest, Ron knew better than to say anything. They shuffled awkwardly towards the stairs, jerking when Ron bumped into the kitchen chair with a bang, stopping awkwardly before the stairs when both sides moved to be the end walking up backwards.

There was a boom and a shout in the street and an explosion from Number 13 Grimmauld Place.

Carefully, they turned, and Ron, very precisely, stepped backwards up a step. He balanced delicately and stepped up and back once more, and the girls followed. Moody stumped up after them, face grim.

Eventually they reached the room that had once been the library of Sirius' father, where a table with a chessboard and boxes marked Weasley's Wizard Wheezes were haphazardly left around from changes the twins had been slaving on of late.

They lowered Fred as softly as possible onto the wood floor, but there was still a thud. Ron winced, looking away; Angelina cringed, curling in on herself, and Hermione sighed and rested her hand against her hand for another moment. Moody surveyed their surroundings with something of a sniff.

"Li'l Saboteur's Stealth Sack," Ron muttered to himself, diving at all products Fred and George had left scattered about with a relish.

Hermione twiddled her fingers and looked about, her brown eyes following Angelina sympathetically as the Chaser drifted over towards the chess pieces with strange ambivalence, lightly running her padded fingertips over a bishop shaped like a cat. It came to life with a sudden purr and Johnson jerked back frenetically, knocking over a chair and sending the figures all about. Throat catching audibly, she bent to pick them up, Hermione sliding over to help.

"Fleet, boy, be fleet about it," Mad-Eye barked at Ron, accompanied by a grunt notably softer than usual.

Hermione, to her slight surprise, found the queen she had picked up resembled, somewhat disturbingly, the girl in front of her. "Erm," she started, but Angelina was closely scrutinizing a rather heroic looking Weasley-piece, poking upward with a sword. She looked about for the other one and noting it, could not reach out to pick it up. Instead she burst into tears again.

Hermione felt a burning behind her own eyes in sympathy, and reached to pat the other girl on the back, but her slightly awkward gesture was forestalled.

"Found it!" Ron cried, bitterly triumphant, holding up what appeared to be tipped bunches of red fathers. "No bally idea how to work them, but I think it involves stabbing- it- she alright?" he asked concernedly, then twitched as the stupidity of his own question hit him.

"As can be," Angelina replied, smoothing her robes and standing up. She ran both hands from her brow to the back of her hair, pushing it down. It had been in a crimped ponytail before it was windblown and loosed, she had no idea what it looked like now. Odd that she would think of that.

"Mmm," said Ron awkwardly, then turned to Hermione, shoulders lifting towards his ears. "For- for that stuff," he muttered, tossing an emptied Wheezes sack at her.

She caught it. "It's not all that important," she answered back, voice low. She felt silly now, though busying herself in collecting things had felt important a scarce few minutes ago. "It's… things, that's all."

His shoulders flopped down, a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. "Maybe it's a teaspoon way of thinking, but things mean something to me," he said. "Can you fit my chess set?"

She looked at the black dog piece on the floor and wondered how Fred and George knew about Padfoot, what else she had never known about Ron's brother that could be lost now. "Of course."

Moody let the pile he was holding drop. "Hustle it up. The sooner you lot get gone, the sooner I'm out there," he growled.

Ron looked up from the darts he was scrutinizing, trying to determine the best way to take Fred's body along. "You're kidding?"

Moody inclined his head slightly, fixing him in the gaze of his swerving eye. "Hnn. Keeping the Muggle lot alive while the Ministry gets its heads screwed back on and gets out here's been a hobby a'mine for several of your lifetimes, Weasley."

They stared at him, faces progressively growing paler.

"Don't go digging my grave already," he snarled at them. "I got a few pieces of me to go first. The likes of Travers-"

"But there's a dragon!" Hermione interrupted with a snap, half a wail and half correction.

His eye lolled frightfully. "Appreciate you clearing that up," he growled. "It's the nammy-pammy lizard-hugging that's brought this, mind you. Nothing good'll commat leaving fire-breathing empty-headed chilly meat-eaters the size of blithering houses runnin' about in the Highlands chomping on sheep! If I said it once I said it thirty dozen times, we should've turned 'em all into wands, potions, pants and seat covers before they're turned against us!" His pallor was progressively reddening, cheeks puffed slightly.

Ron, desperately, sent mental signals to Hermione that now was not the best time to bring up dragons rights. She stayed silent, though whether because she received or simply because she was the brightest student of her class was debatable.

"And so it's me that's got to clean up the mess until the Ministry gets the notion of vigilance through their thick noggins," he continued darkly. "Per usual. Hightail it, Weasley."

Angelina Johnson rose to her feet, a bit wobbly. She set her chin sternly, though her eyes kept watering. "I want to stay and help y-"

"Sit down!" Moody roared at her.

She sat, looking crumpled

"Those things working, boy?" he asked Ron, who was fiddling with the feathered darts.

"Go, then- don't give me those sheep eyes, missy," he warned Hermione, whose lip was trembling. "I'll make out all right. You keep your guards up once you're out of my watch, though. Potter needs you lot safe, and it's safe you'll be, so get on! GET GOING!"

"B-B-" Ron started, face contorting.

"ARE- YOU- DAFT? LEAVE!"

"Grab Fred," Ron stuttered to Angelina, who was clutching the boy's wrist again anyways.

"Prof-" Hermione started.

"Save that," said Moody. "See you lot later."

Hermione clutched her sacks of crumpled remnants of the House of Black and chess pieces, took the dart Ron tossed at her, and with a stubborn refusal to wince, pricked it deeply into her finger.

She felt a rushing warmth billowing up from toe to crown, and as her vision suddenly blurred, a firm yank upward from beneath both her armpits. It was only then she wondered where, exactly, they were going.

Moody watched them vanish in puffs of fading flame, breathed in through the twisted corner of his mouth, and set his stout walking stick against the floor hard as he turned back towards the stairs. He could already see a growing tinge of orange from the bottom floor.

"Dragons," he sneered. "Henh."


End file.
